Trust and Protection: Recovery
by fishiexy
Summary: After Peter discovers the trauma in Neal's past, he promises to do everything he can to protect him and to help re-build the trust he has lost. However, Neal's emotional scars run deep and despite Peter's best efforts, Neal's recovery is far from certain.
1. Slash and trigger warnings

**Trust and Protection: Recovery**

This is the follow-up story to Trust and Protection:Discovery.

It's not necessary to have read the prequel to enjoy 'Recovery' however, reading 'Discovery' will provide the background and understanding as to what happened to Neal and why he and Peter behave as they do.

As for the first story, this series of fan-fiction has been rated 'M' for mature audiences.

It contains references to non-consensual M/M sexual abuse/assault and rape plus describes the symptoms and signs of panic attacks/PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder).

It also portrays a slash relationship between two adult consenting males.

If the first idea upsets you or the second idea offends you, please do not read any further.

The stories also contain descriptions in varying details of masturbation, oral and anal sex.

There's some violence and swearing somewhere in there too, so once again…

If any of the above offends, upsets, triggers or squicks you…

Please do not access any of the other chapters of this story.

The decision to proceed is now up to you.


	2. Chapter 1

**Trust and Protection: Recovery**

**Chapter 1**

**Recovery: Day 92**

It had been three months since that fateful day when the life of FBI agent Peter Burke had been turned upside down; three months since he'd found out that his civilian consultant partner with whom he had been working with for just over a year now had been raped in prison while serving a four year sentence for bond forgery - a conviction that Peter himself had been personally responsible for; three months since he had subsequently rescued his partner from the clutches of a violent and twisted mob boss, where he had been physically and sexually assaulted in an undercover operation that had gone horrifically wrong; three months since he had taken an emotionally scarred and traumatized young man home and promised him that together they would fix things and that eventually he would recover from the ordeals of his past; three months since he last laid a finger on Neal in any way whatsoever, let alone touched him in a sexual sense and quite frankly, the lack of contact between them was just about driving him mad.

Right from the beginning, he and Neal had always had a very tactile relationship; a hand on the small of his back as Peter guided him through a doorway; a smack to those talented long fingers when Neal dared to try and change the radio station in the car; a grab to his upper arm to stop him rushing headlong into trouble and a squeeze to his shoulder to remind him not to do anything stupid… And that had been back in the days before Peter had even thought about touching Neal in anything other than a purely platonic sense.

But then slowly his feelings for Neal started to change. He stopped seeing Neal as an annoying thorn in his side who both increased his work load due to all the forms he had to fill out to keep him on as an FBI consultant and caused him worry, stress and occasionally heart failure when the impetuous ex-con would disobey protocol and orders and take matters into his own hands, rushing headlong into dangerous situations without a thought for his own safety or that of the agents sent in to extract him, and began to see him for what he really was behind the con-man's façade.

Because behind the flashy grin, expensive and form-fitting suits, behind the flirting, the games, the manipulation, the laissez-faire attitude, behind the smooth and suave exterior that Neal presented to the world Peter knew how different and special he was; his quick witted mind, his genius level IQ, his incredible artistic talents, his subtle and wicked sense of humour, his exuberance and enthusiasm, the child-like wonder with which he viewed the world, his loyalty, determination, passion and the desperate emotional neediness and vulnerability that seemed to radiate from him whenever he was alone with Peter…

And he didn't understand why it was happening, why he was falling for this amazing and beautiful young man only that he was and he just knew that a touch on the small of his back or a slap to his hand or a squeeze of his arm was no longer enough. Peter wanted and needed more. And then it turned out that Neal wanted more too and six months ago they had gone back to Neal's apartment and Peter finally got a fleeting taste of everything he'd been dreaming about when Neal had reached up and kissed him…

Peter closed his eyes and leant back in his chair as he remembered that evening: It had been his first time touching another man and he had thought that it was going to be weird because kissing a guy with the kind of passion he'd felt for Neal more or less made him gay, right? And he'd thought that a change in his sexuality at this late stage in his life was going to freak him out, but nothing could have been further from the truth. The feeling of Neal's lips on his, the odd sensation of Neal's stubble against his face, the heat of that lithe, muscled and most definitely _male _body pressing against his…The whole experience was just overwhelming and when Neal went down on him, he'd lost the ability to even think, let alone try and analyze the situation because the moment he'd been touched he'd almost gone off like a rocket…

And that was where the problem had started because Peter so desperately wanted to reciprocate; wanted to make Neal feel as good as he had done; wanted to get Neal out of those ridiculous clothes; wanted to touch and taste that toned little body; wanted to mess up that perfect hair; to wipe that smug smile off his face; wanted to make Neal wide-eyed with lust and longing, make him lose the ability to speak; in short, Peter wanted to make Neal come undone…

Well, he had managed that all right, but Neal hadn't so much as come undone, as come unhinged. At the time Peter couldn't understand what was happening as he felt Neal's hands pushing violently at his chest and then watched, puzzled, as Neal stumbled backwards away from him, his breathing so rapid and shallow he was almost panting. At first he'd thought it was another one of Neal's games and he had started to get angry but then all the color drained out of Neal's face and for a moment Peter had thought he was going to pass out before he had rushed to the bathroom and started vomiting…

And it was only months later that Peter had realized what was really going on; that Neal was suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and that Peter's desperate need to touch Neal had led to him being somewhat heavy handed and looking back on it, maybe also rather sexually aggressive as he tangled his fingers in Neal's hair, tugging his head back to kiss him forcefully, grabbing at Neal's ass to pull him closer and cupping his groin to feel his arousal or lack thereof in Neal's case. All of which had prompted Neal to have flashbacks of his time in prison causing the hyperventilation, the vomiting and the shakes that seemed to go for hours…

And once he had found out; once Neal had confirmed his suspicions, not in so many words of course, because Neal would never admit to anything that would make him appear damaged or vulnerable, Peter was horrified that anything so awful could have happened to Neal who although was a criminal and deserved to pay for his transgressions, did not deserve to have that happen to him in a place where he should have been watched at all hours of the day and night and also mortified that he, as an FBI agent and supposedly trained in noticing peoples' subconscious tells, didn't pick up on Neal's uncharacteristic and very disturbing behaviour until it was practically shoved down his throat not to mention how dreadful he felt in being responsible for causing Neal to have flashbacks and making him relive those awful memories.

But Neal being Neal, denied there was anything wrong and went undercover that very same night only to be physically and sexually assaulted again even though Neal had sworn to him that nothing had happened the second time. Of course Peter hadn't believed him and had more or less forced him to the hospital to get his injuries looked at which then caused yet more emotional trauma as Neal couldn't face even the thought of being touched again and had a meltdown in the Emergency Room necessitating him to be forcibly restrained and sedated just to allow a doctor anywhere near him.

So he had remained with Neal while his clothes were removed and a physical examination, including an internal, was performed, before helping him dress, manoeuvring him slowly and carefully out to the car and then driving him home whereupon he had waited while Neal had a shower and then watched with worry and pity and sympathy as Neal had emerged from the bathroom dressed in his pyjamas, the top fully buttoned to the neck with his robe wrapped and tied tightly around him as though that was somehow going to keep him safe and told him that he didn't have to talk if he didn't want to but that he would be there for him should he ever feel the need and that just because Neal didn't feel up to participating in any sort of physical relationship at the moment, it didn't mean that he was going to disappear from his life and that Neal was in charge of when or if any touching would occur and until that moment, their relationship would be strictly hands off.

And that's how it had been for the last three months: No touching whatsoever despite how miserable and desperate it made him feel. Peter had stuck to his word because how could he not when Neal had been violated in the most horrific of ways? He had promised Neal that the decision of when or indeed if he wanted to start a physical relationship would be down to him. Neal was the one who had to decide to take that first step when he felt ready and until then Peter would be there for him in any way he wanted but he wasn't going to put any pressure on him. He didn't want Neal to feel that their relationship was dependent on sex, that Neal had to put out otherwise Peter would lose interest in him. He wanted to give Neal time to recover, to allow him to regain the confidence to ask for what he needed, to initiate but also to feel happy that he could say 'stop' at any moment and his wishes would be instantly obeyed.

And he'd told Neal that there wasn't going to be a time limit on making that decision and honest to God he meant that, but Jesus! He didn't know how much longer he was going to be able to wait. Seeing Neal every day without being able to put a friendly arm around his shoulder; working in such close proximity to the man that he could literally smell him yet not being able even to touch his hand to get his attention, was driving him out of his mind.

Logically, Peter knew that to recover emotionally from a horrific event like the one that Neal had endured not only once but twice now would take time; that Neal would need to work through the psychological ramifications due to the trauma he had suffered, that he would eventually need to accept and deal with what had happened to him before he would be able to move forward with his life, but how long was that supposed to take? A month? A year? Two years? Or possibly even longer… Maybe Neal would never be able to come to terms with the impact that these incidents had caused, would never heal enough emotionally to be able to have sex again, would never heal full stop because God knew that Peter couldn't have if anything like that had happened to him.

Many times he had tried to put himself in Neal's place; tried to envisage what Neal must have gone through; tried to imagine all the feelings of anger, humiliation, helplessness and desperation not to mention the terror and pain when he was forcibly restrained and then violated, but it was beyond his comprehension. In his mind's eye he just kept seeing Neal being bent over a prison table, one large grimy hand of a faceless, but hugely muscled assailant fisted in his soft, dark hair, the other curled around his waist, thick fingers digging into pale skin hard enough to bruise and holding down slim hips while he pushed into Neal repeatedly.

The images always stopped there because by that time Peter felt he was going to be sick. How did anyone recover from being raped? How could he expect Neal to ever be 'normal' again, to want to have sex again, to want to have sex with him?

Peter got up and walked over to the glass partition that acted as a wall to his office. He looked down and immediately caught sight of Neal, his slender figure encased in a close-fitting charcoal gray three-piece suit, his dark hair impeccably styled as usual and watched him strut and swagger and flirt with the agents and support staff in the bull-pen. Peter frowned to himself. How did Neal even function let alone come to work every day and behave as though nothing had ever happened to him?

Then Neal glanced up as though he could sense that Peter was staring at him, was thinking about him, worrying about him and Peter's heart lurched as for a second Neal just stood there, blue eyes wide and unblinking, his expression open and vulnerable before he grinned, the con man's mask now firmly back in place, and hopped off the desk he was now perched on and started up the stairs towards Peter's office.

Peter took a deep breath in and let it out in a long shaky sigh. God! What was the matter with him? He was acting like a love-sick school girl; making excuses to see Neal as often as possible; calling him up to the office to discuss a case, passing by his desk to ask him if he wanted a coffee, phoning him at all hours of the day and night ostensibly to check he wasn't getting into any trouble but really to find out that he was okay… And all because he couldn't have Neal, couldn't even touch him. Jesus! This had to stop! And it wasn't even as though he was a single man desperate for the attention, because he had a very active and satisfying sex life that he shared with his beautiful and amazing wife whom he was still in love with after all these years. In fact since this whole thing with Neal had started, since he had admitted to himself and confessed to El that he was in love with Neal, the sex between then had become even better if that were indeed possible and certainly more frequent than anything they'd had together over the last few years of married life.

And in some ways he felt guilty because although he didn't wish he was with Neal while he was making love to El, the same dark hair and blue eyes of El's would occasionally remind him of the two times he had been with Neal, when it was Neal's dark hair that he was stroking and Neal's blue eyes gazing up at him and how much he desperately wanted to enjoy that toned, muscular, hard little body again. But then those thoughts made him angry; angry at himself for wanting what he couldn't have and not giving his all to the beautiful, understanding woman he married who seemed genuinely happy to share him with Neal; angry at the people who had caused Neal all this pain in the first place and had made him unable to live a normal life, unable to have sex, unable to even be touched without suffering a meltdown and then angry at Neal himself; for not telling him what had happened to him in prison, for leading Peter on and making Peter want him so badly, for making Peter fall in love with him but then not be able to do a damned thing about it.

'Hey, Peter!' Neal said leaning against the doorway, embodying the very picture of nonchalant elegance.

'Huh!' Peter grunted morosely.

'Uh-oh! Bad day? Well, this should cheer you up! I was just browsing through the records on the Ostrakova case, you know for fun…'

'The Ostrakova case? That's mortgage fraud. You hate mortgage fraud…' Peter narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

'Yes, but I hate being bored even more and since you haven't given me anything to do for weeks now…'

'You've had plenty to do Neal.' Peter said frowning and shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

Neal's voice had been light and unthreatening, but Peter heard the accusation for what it was.

'Plenty of old, boring cases to look through, all of which I gave you leads on within a day. One day, Peter!'

Neal's voice rose up at the end betraying the indignity he felt at the way he obviously perceived his unique skills were not being used to their best advantage.

'And the Bureau and the American people are very grateful…' Peter responded dryly.

Neal pursed his lips, a small frown marring his perfect features as he thought about how best to proceed.

Peter could see how frustrated he was and just how much it was costing him to hold it together and to ask for what he wanted because asking would mean acknowledging that something bad had indeed happened to him.

Neal walked over and sat down in the chair opposite Peter. He didn't lean back and put his feet up on the desk or take any of the office supplies to play with or doodle on official FBI stationery for the sole purpose of annoying Peter like he normally did. This was Neal being as serious and honest as was possible for him to be.

'Peter… '

He bit his lip anxiously before taking a deep steadying breath in and then looked across the desk at Peter, fear, desperation and hope all radiating from wide, unblinking, impossibly blue eyes.

'I need to get back out in the field. It's been three months now. I want to go out there with you. I want to be your partner again.'

'You are my partner, Neal.' Peter said firmly, his gaze never leaving Neal's face and trying to make him understand that it wasn't just work he was talking about.

'Well, it certainly doesn't feel that way. After…'

Neal's impassioned speech came to an abrupt halt and he swallowed uncomfortably.

'After?' Peter prompted him gently.

Peter didn't want to get all heavy and try and play the psychologist here because for one thing; Neal would see right through him and shut him down in an instant, two; Neal was in fact already seeing a psychologist as all FBI employees were required to do after any traumatic event occurring in the course of their duties, three; he had told Neal it was up to him whether he talked about what had happened to him or not and he wasn't going to go back on his promise and four; Peter had always hated talking about 'feelings', his or anyone else's, so the thought of trying to navigate his way through this particular emotional mine field with someone he cared deeply about when he was so extraordinarily bad at all that touchy-feely stuff was not something he was particularly keen on doing to say the least.

But it had been three months now since Neal had been hurt, yet he hadn't spoken about it, hadn't made one mention of it in all that time. Maybe that was his way of dealing; to try and pretend the whole thing hadn't happened, the trouble was, buried traumas had the habit of popping up just when you least wanted them to and as much as Neal might think he was coping, he really probably wasn't; just look at the flashbacks and the meltdowns that had happened the two times he and Neal had been together.

'After what, Neal?' He repeated.

'After the Wade case…After he shot Logan and assaulted me…' Neal said smoothly, giving Peter a dazzling smile, which Peter had no doubt was totally insincere and fake, just like Neal's ability to cope…

So Neal had seen through him as he had predicted would happen and had told him what he wanted to hear. That was the trouble when you worked with quick-witted, hyper-intelligent over-achievers; they out-played you every time. Peter sighed. It seemed then that Neal wasn't ready to talk after all.

'You told me that you wouldn't treat me any differently at work…'

'And I haven't, Neal, but you could hardly walk for the first week and then you needed some down time to let your face heal and then we were tying up all the loose ends on Wade and I didn't think you'd want to be involved in all that…'

'No… Okay, but that's nearly over now. You're getting new cases and you're shutting me out. I don't like it and I want to be part of the team again. I'm telling you Peter, I'm ready…'

Peter's heart rate spiked again. Was Neal really only talking about work?

'Even if I wanted to,' he said carefully, 'you know that I can't put you back out in the field until Dr. Daley clears you for active duty.'

'So if I can get Frank to sign me off, then you'll let me back out there with you?'

'If you can get signed off, I'll _think_ about letting you back out there. Look… Are you sure you're ready?' Peter asked again.

'Positive!'

Peter stared at Neal's determined face and understood, not for the first time since he started working as a consultant for the FBI how easy it was for this man to con his way into getting whatever he wanted just by sheer force of personality, charisma and will power, because quite honestly, Peter would have given him anything at that moment including the key to his anklet had he asked for it. But he did have a valid point in that he needed to get back in the game at some time in the near future and he had been doing good work with the cold cases and getting him out in the field again where they would be working closely side-by-side could only benefit their deepening friendship and maybe, _hopefully_, lead to something more.

'Tell me what you got on Ostrakova and we'll see.'

'If I tell you how it was done, then you'll let me back on active duty?' Neal said, the surprise in his voice indicating that he hadn't thought getting Peter to agree to him would be that easy.

'No, Dr. Daley is the only one who can do that.'

'Then consider it done!' Neal beamed.

Peter rolled his eyes but had no doubt that by the end of the working day Neal would indeed have been declared fit once more for active duty.

'So, Ostrakova…?' He prompted once more trying to get his wayward partner back on track and making a mental note to talk to Dr. Daley personally to make sure that Neal wasn't pulling another fast one to get what he wanted yet again.

Neal shrugged. He knew when to cut his losses. He'd take what he could get.

'It was the secretary.' He declared triumphantly.

'What?'

'She was having an affair with Ostrakova.'

Peter snorted derisively.

'Is that all you've got? We worked that one out weeks ago.'

'She also had access to all the accounts and when I added up the numbers…'

'We checked the math. The accounts were fine.'

'The math was fine if you rounded down…'

Neal reclined back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk linking his hands behind his head. Ah! Neal was obviously feeling more relaxed and secure in himself now. It must be because he was back on familiar ground and also sure enough of Peter's acquiescence of his request not to worry about a little thing like making his handler annoyed with him.

'After all,' he continued, 'who'd miss a cent here or there?'

'But all those cents…Feet!' Peter glared pointedly at the expensive Italian leather shoes since he couldn't smack the back of Neal's head like he would have done previously.

'Up to 99 of them at a time…' Neal obediently removed his feet from Peter's desk and grinned up at him.

'…Would add up to make quite a substantial amount. When did you say you looked at this?

'Just now.'

'But that took Durrance days to get those totals…'

'Durrance isn't as good as me and also doesn't have my gift for numbers…'

'So it would seem…'

'Or my attention to detail. Or my instincts. Or my artistic talents…'

'Or your ability to forge a Monet…'

'Allegedly forge a Monet.' Neal interjected smoothly.

'And you did this for fun?' Peter asked ignoring Neal's last statement.

'I told you, Peter, I was bored. And…'

'You don't do very well at being bored. Jesus, Neal! You're like a three year old sometimes!' Peter exclaimed, his voice a mixture of exasperation and fondness as he got up and walked out to the railing overlooking the bull-pen.

'Durrance, get in here!'

Thirty seconds later a tall, well-built agent walked into the room.

'Yes, Boss?'

'The Ostrakova case… Go pick up the secretary.'

'But we ruled her out. The numbers were good.'

'Yeah, well it turns out that the numbers weren't quite as good as we thought.'

'I did the math myself, Boss and the accounts matched the money declared…'

'Yet there seems to be nearly ten million dollars…'

'Nine point nine eight million to be exact.'

'Thank you Neal, as I was saying, nearly ten million dollars missing. How do you account for that?'

'He rounded down.' Neal couldn't resist reiterating smugly.

'Of course I rounded down. It's how taxes and liabilities are calculated.'

'But it's not how cons are calculated.'

'I can only take your word for that.' The agent snapped.

'And I'm glad that you need to David.' Peter told him, trying not to grin.

'Anyway the books matched the money in all the accounts.' Durrance tried again.

'Yes, they did, but unfortunately though, for you, not for the FBI, Neal is indeed right. The secretary also rounded down but kept the difference.'

'But I only finished with the file today and it took me days to do the calculations. Caffrey couldn't possibly have done the math in just, what, a couple of hours?'

'Fifty-five minutes.' Neal interjected.

Peter turned and looked at him in disbelief. Neal held his gaze for a moment then rolled his eyes.

'Oh, okay…!' He said sighing dramatically. 'You know I can never lie to you, Peter! It was an hour…! But I would have come in under the sixty mark except that someone had forgotten to order any more coffee so I had to nip out and do a Starbucks run…'

'What?'

Durrance was looking at Neal with a mixture of incredulity and disbelief. He also looked like he wanted to beat the shit of him.

'Yeah… Seems that our consultant here's got quite the gift for numbers.' Peter said trying to keep the proud smile off his face. 'The devil's in the details, David and it seems that you haven't quite got Neal's eye for it yet…'

'Or my instincts, or my artistic talents…'

'Neal!' Peter warned.

'I'm sorry Boss…' Durrance said now sounding contrite.

'Hey, don't worry about it. We all make mistakes but the trick is to learn from them. So, go bring the secretary in and I'll see you back here later okay?'

'I'm on it and thanks, Boss.'

'No problem. And don't worry about Caffrey; he might be a bit too clever for his own good sometimes but he has an uncanny knack for helping the FBI to close cases... Although it sucks when he's right though, doesn't it?' Peter said smirking at his newest agent.

Neal waited until Durrance had left the room before speaking to Peter once more.

'So does this mean I'm back on the team?' He asked softly, his voice full of hope.

'Are you sure that you're up to it?'

'I'm fine now, everything's healed. I'm ready to be your partner again.'

Peter pursed his lips while taking a good look at Neal. Outwardly he appeared calm and unflustered, sitting quietly as though he was waiting for Peter to tell him what time of day it was instead of deciding his future, but Peter had known Neal too long now not to be able to read the minute tells that gave away just how anxious and desperate he really was. Maybe Neal was right. Maybe he really was fine, at least in his ability to do his job.

'Well then, if Dr. Daley agrees, starting Monday, report to the briefing room.'

Neal's smile lit up the room.

'Thank you Peter. You won't regret this, I promise.'

'You just make sure I don't.' Peter told him gruffly. 'No hare brained schemes or shenanigans of any sort. You talk to me first regarding any ideas you might have. There's to be no double crossing and no flying by the seat of your pants and absolutely no getting yourself into trouble by rushing headlong into dangerous situations without a plan or backup or me by your side. Understood?'

'By the seat of my pants?'

'I mean it Neal. I want you where I can see you at all times. I don't want you off playing the hero. I'm not going to let you get hurt again. Do you understand? Neal?'

'Yes, I understand. Thank you.'

Peter watched Neal's throat bob as he swallowed with difficulty before he regained his emotional control and the smooth mask of indifference settled into place on his face once more.

'So, any plans for the weekend?'

'Yeah, it's the first time in ages that El hasn't got a thing so we're going out on Saturday night for a movie and a meal and then we've got Sunday lunch with some friends. We haven't seen them for a while so it should be good.'

'Oh. _Oh_…! So do you want to do something tonight since you're busy for the rest of the weekend?'

'I can't tonight, David's got tickets to the game.'

'What? David Who? David Durrance? You're going out with Agent David Durrance? David that was just in here? David that rounded down and nearly let a criminal walk free? David that took three days to do what I did in an hour and still got it wrong? Tell me it's not that David, Peter please!'

'Sorry, Neal, you know I enjoy your company, but come on…I mean, Tickets! To the game!

'It's not the game I mind, it's who you're going to see it with. Durrance is an arrogant, holier-than-thou, second-rate suck-up.'

'Suck-up?'

'Yeah, he's all 'Sorry Boss' and 'Thank you Boss' and 'I'm on it Boss' and 'Can I get you a coffee Boss…'

'Hmm, sounds good to me, especially the coffee part. Perhaps you should start doing a little sucking up, Neal…' Peter said trying to hold back a smile and failing.

'I bring you coffee!' Neal said indignantly.

'_June_ brings me coffee.' Peter clarified, dryly.

'Which she wouldn't bring you if you weren't with me, ergo, I bring you coffee and semantics aside we weren't talking about me…'

'For once…' Peter muttered.

'And it's pointless anyway because no matter how hard Durrance brown-noses you, he's never going to make a good agent; he just hasn't got the smarts. And I know how you like smart, Peter, because you like me.'

'Now who's being arrogant?'

'It's not arrogance if it's the truth.'

'Look, Neal, David Durrance may not be as smart as you, but then again who is, right? However, he's a good researcher and will win in the end with dogged determination and hard work because he sticks to doing what he's been told and follows up all his leads in a methodical, logical fashion.'

'But a good agent needs to think outside the box. He or she needs to have the odd original thought, to be able to work things out for themselves, to be able to connect the dots when sometimes the dots aren't even there and occasionally make a leap of faith…'

'A good agent also needs to look before he leaps and learn to follow orders so as not to get himself hurt.'

'A good agent needs to respect women and people from other racial groups and sexual and social minorities like ex-cons.'

'A good agent employs the best people he can to be in his team like a lesbian, an African-American, a Hispanic woman with attitude and a gun fetish and a disobedient, wilful, brilliant, beautiful, bisexual ex-con! Look! I'm not going on a date with him, Neal, I'm just going to watch a game of basketball.'

'Okay…And for the record Peter, you are as smart as I am. You caught me! Remember?'

'Of course I remember and I caught you twice, Neal…'

'Yeah, you did and nobody had ever caught me before. Look… Have a good weekend and say 'hi' to Elizabeth for me. I'll see you on Monday, bright and early. Don't forget, Peter. You own me for four years. I'm yours now.'


	3. Chapter 2

**Trust and Protection: Recovery**

**Chapter 2**

**Recov****ery: Day 6**

'Come on in Mr. Caffrey!'

Neal took a deep calming breath before squaring his shoulders, pasting on a confident and charming smile and opening the door. This was going to be one of his most intricate and exacting cons he'd run for a long time.

'Thank you, but it's Neal.'

It was important to make this man think that they could be friends, to make him think that he was a person who could be trusted to cooperate and to tell the truth no matter how difficult that was going to be for him.

'Well, Neal it is! And in that case, you'd better call me Frank! So, Neal… Have a seat and make yourself comfortable. Would you like something to drink, a water perhaps?'

'No, I'm fine, thanks.'

He smiled, making himself seem grateful but also conveying a hint of nervousness.

'Well, Neal, let me introduce myself and tell you a little about what's going to happen here today. I'm Dr. Frank Daley and as you are probably aware I am a psychologist employed by the FBI to talk to agents and other employees of the Bureau, such as yourself, because a traumatic event has occurred in the line of duty. It's a chance for you to give your side of the story in a more relaxed setting, rather than the formal report you had to make when you gave evidence. It's also a chance for you to reflect and discuss any feelings or emotions that may have arisen from the event that led to you being sent here today.

Neal nodded, agreeing with doctor. He wanted to come across as taking this seriously.

'I want to reassure you that anything you decide to share with me will remain confidential by which I mean I will not divulge a word of what we talk about to anyone including your FBI superiors unless you give me permission to do so or if I deem you to be an immediate danger to yourself or others when of course I would be obliged to tell somebody.'

'Of course!' He said smiling conspiratorially, letting the doctor know he knew this was all a paper exercise; something he had to go through to get himself back to work, but that he didn't blame the doctor for any of it, after all, he wasn't responsible for making the rules either; they were both just jumping through hoops really; allies together against the might of governmental bureaucracy.

'Think of this as a place where you can speak freely about anything that is on your mind, anything that's worrying you or making you anxious or upset. This isn't a test; there's no right or wrong answer. I'm here to help you, if you want it.'

'And if I don't?' Neal said lightly.

'Then you tell me your version of what happened, I make my assessment of whether this event has affected your ability to do your job and then we part company.'

'So in a way, it is a test because if you don't like what I tell you, you have the power to keep me from going back to work.' Neal said smiling, letting the doctor know that he understood that he didn't really have a choice but wanting to make the point anyway. It was one thing to manipulate the doctor into liking him but he didn't want to be thought of as too much of a pushover.

'I would only do that if I felt you were a danger to yourself or to the other people in your team. Otherwise Neal, how you decide to handle any stressful or traumatic situations in your life is totally your choice. If you feel you can cope on your own, then good for you! Otherwise, you're here now… Why not use me as a sounding board? Tell me your story; your version of the events… Or you can just tell me as much as you're comfortable with. I'm not here to force you to talk and this isn't a test or a punishment. Believe it or not, I really am here to help you. However, at the end of the day, Neal, we both know that the FBI expect me to write a report about your fitness to return to work and if you haven't told me anything, I won't be in a position to do that for you.'

That's right; they both understood that Neal wasn't going to get away with not talking.

'Okay.' He answered congenially.

'So why don't we start by discussing the undercover operation that you took part in just over a week ago.'

'Have you read the official report…?' Neal asked wanting to know how much of the truth he could avoid.

'Yes, but I want to hear your version of what happened. Humour me if you will…'

Neal shrugged; carefree, as if it were no skin off his nose. So, he thought quickly, heavy on the extraneous details but light on the factual content and without mentioning the things he really didn't want to talk about.

'Vincent Wade is a local mafia boss with fingers in a lot of pies. He was suspected of, among other things, forging bonds and bank notes but the FBI could never get any proof until a way to get close to him was found via his accountant Logan Michaels. I got myself invited to a party at Wade's hotel courtesy of Michaels who was going to tell me where the money was being stashed and how it was being laundered. Unfortunately, Wade got suspicious and took me and Logan up to his room.'

'Was that part of the plan?'

'No.'

'Why did you go with him if you knew he was a dangerous criminal?'

'Because he made it clear that he would hurt me if I didn't.'

'How did he do that?' Daley asked, suddenly a little too interested.

'He grabbed my arm and twisted it and then let me know that he was carrying a gun.'

'It sounds like you weren't given much of a choice.' He said, watching Neal carefully. 'So would you say this is where your operation started going wrong?'

'Why do think that anything went wrong? The plan was to arrest Wade and that's what happened.' He said in an off-handed way, leaning back in his chair with his arms behind his head.

You'll have to do better than that, Dr. Daley, Neal thought to himself triumphantly.

'But it wasn't part of the plan for you to be assaulted was it?'

'What?'

Neal felt his smile slipping. He wasn't ready to talk about…_that_ yet.

'The bruise on your face, Neal, which I imagine was much worse last week… That wasn't part of the FBI's plan to catch Wade was it?'

Neal gave a sigh of relief. The doctor had meant when he had been physically assaulted. It wasn't something he was proud of, but he had been hit many times in the past; that, he could talk about.

'Of course not!'

'So, what went wrong?'

'He thought I was having an affair with Logan. He was angry with Logan then he was angry at me so he hit me.'

'What happened next?'

'Logan pulled out a gun and told Wade to stop; that he wasn't going to stand by and let him hurt anyone else.'

'And how did Wade react to that ultimatum?'

'He went ballistic!'

And wasn't that the truth? Neal shivered just at the memory of it.

'He screamed at Logan and called him a traitor and then he just swung his gun round and shot him in the chest! There was… a lot of blood…'

He blinked a few times as if trying to clear the image from his mind. It couldn't hurt to let Dr. Daley think that he was traumatized by the sight of blood. And it was true in a way because he didn't particularly like seeing blood, although he wasn't one of these people that fainted or threw up if there did happen to be any of the red stuff hanging around…

'What went through your mind after witnessing that horrific event?'

Neal answered this one with complete honesty but added a wide-eyed anxious look followed by a nervous swallow.

'That he had killed Logan and I was going to be next.'

'But you weren't…Why not? What happened then?'

'The FBI came through the door and arrested Wade.'

Said with relief and finality; after all, the FBI did eventually come in and save the day.

'Anything else happen… I mean before the FBI arrived?'

'Like what?' Neal replied with a wariness that wasn't all put on.

'Did Wade… Hurt you?'

'Hitting me wasn't enough?' Neal said in an indignant voice, going on the defensive. He was trying to make the doctor feel uncomfortable so he wouldn't ask any more questions on this particular subject.

'You said a minute ago that he hit you before Logan was shot…'

'He hit me twice.'

That was also true, but he was taking liberties with the timeline.

'On your face?'

'Yes.'

'Did he touch you anywhere else?'

'I… I don't understand what you mean…'

And that high-pitched stuttering wasn't put on at all, Neal thought hysterically. And no matter how he prevaricated or diverted attention to other topics of conversation, Dr. Daley was steadily leading him towards the very thing he was trying to forget and it was becoming more difficult to remain calm and collected.

'Well, you said that Wade was angry because he thought that you and Logan were having an affair. In fact, he was so angry that Logan was standing up to him, that Logan was trying to protect you, had chosen you over him, that he shot him. Wade therefore must have been angry at you too. Did he do anything to you apart from hitting you in the face? Did he put his hands anywhere else on your body?'

'He might have grabbed me by the arm… It's all a bit hazy. I was really scared; Logan had just been shot…' Neal said trying to relax, trying to give a reason why he might not have entirely succeeded.

'That's entirely understandable and a perfectly normal reaction but what did you do when Wade grabbed you?'

'I told him to let go and I tried to get away.' Neal said in what he hoped was a conversational tone, but in his head he could hear his own voice as it had really sounded; hysterical and high-pitched as he screamed for Wade to get off him before all that came out of his mouth was a desperate and pathetic whimper as his pants were pulled down and flashbacks from his time in prison burst into his mind…

'Did he let go?'

'The FBI came through the door…'

Distraction… Misdirection… It normally worked; why wasn't it working now?

'When Wade was holding your arm?'

'Yes!'

'Are you sure?'

'This is starting to sound very prosecutorial… Do I need a lawyer?'

He tried to relax, make it sound like a joke, but his smile felt weak even to him and Dr. Daley was having none of it and carried on with his questions relentlessly.

'Did he let go of you?'

'I don't… I'm not sure…'

'Did he let go, Neal?'

'No!'

'Where else did he touch you?'

'I… I don't feel comfortable discussing that. You said I didn't have to talk…'

'Did he touch your hips? Your buttocks? Your genitals?'

He felt his heart rate spike as Wade's hand closed around his balls and squeezed. Oh God! He was going to be sick…He immediately tried to concentrate on his breathing; in and out, deep and slow, regular as clockwork…

'I… I don't remember!'

'It says here in the report that Wade tried to…'

'The FBI came in… I don't remember! I'm sorry…'

In and out, deep and slow, regular as clockwork…

'That's okay, Neal.' Dr. Daley said gently, 'What's the next thing you do remember?'

'Um… Driving home.'

Yeah, things were settling; heart rate, resp rate; they were both slowing…He could do this, Neal thought to himself in relief.

'Driving home from where?'

'From the hospital.'

'Did you drive?'

'No, Peter did.'

'Special Agent Peter Burke of the White Collar division?' Dr. Daley said while looking at a file on his desk.

'Yes.'

'Is it normal procedure that a senior agent would personally take a CI to the hospital?'

'I don't know. As you said, I'm not an agent…'

'Was Peter in charge of the case? Did he feel guilty that the operation had gone wrong and you got hurt?'

'No! It was Ruiz's operation. Organized Crime took precedence over the White Collar division. It wasn't Peter's fault. Peter led the FBI team that came in and rescued me. Peter and me… I work for Peter.'

'Why were you in the hospital?'

'Peter wanted me to get checked out.'

'You didn't want to get checked out?'

'I knew I was fine.' Neal said confidently.

'Are you a doctor?'

'You sound like Peter.'

'Is that a good thing?'

'Not necessarily.'

Dr. Daley nodded but didn't say anything and then just stared at him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Neal tried not to squirm in his chair. He didn't know what the matter was with him today; a con had never been this difficult before…

'So why did Peter think you needed to be checked out?'

'Because I had a black eye and he wanted to make sure I didn't have a skull fracture.'

'Anything else?'

'I… Look, Dr. Daley…'

'Frank…'

'Okay, Frank… I'm not trying to be obstructive…'

'And I never said you were, Neal. I'm merely trying to get a picture of the chain of events as they happened as there seems to be some discrepancies between your version here today and the official FBI report.'

'Peter told me I was given some drugs at the hospital and they seem to have caused some memory loss. That whole evening… And with Wade… It's all pretty fuzzy.'

Both true and convenient, at least about the hospital anyway, with Wade; not so much, but he had become very good at blocking the memories of that night at least until they appeared with no warning as flashbacks.

'I understand. I prescribe a lot of sedatives and tranquillizers in my line of work; sometimes it's necessary and usually it's no big deal. But can you tell me why you might have needed drugs in the hospital?'

'Peter said I was anxious.'

'Were you?'

'Possibly…'

'About your face?'

'Probably...'

It really was terribly fuzzy but there was a little niggle at the back of his mind that said there was something else, something dark, something ominous, something he didn't want to be able to remember…

'Any other reason for you to be anxious?'

'Hmm, let me think…' he said sarcastically, 'Oh yes: I'd just seen Logan shot in the chest; I thought I was going to be next; I don't like hospitals…'

'I don't know many people who do.' Frank said cheerfully, cutting him off mid- rant. 'What is it specifically you don't like about them?'

'The form filling, the exorbitant expense… CI's don't exactly get the best insurance you know… the needles, the tests, the fuss, the loss of control, people making you take your clothes off to examine you…'

'But you didn't need to take off your clothes; you'd only been hit in the face….'

Neal blinked as a snippet of hidden memory jumped into the forefront of his mind.

He had needed to take his clothes off and he remembered telling Peter that he didn't want to, that he was scared, in fact just thinking about it was making him scared right now.

'There were… There might have been some bruises…' He said hesitantly, looking up at the psychologist, uncertainty written across his face.

'Might have been?'

'I… I can't remember. The drugs…'

He didn't want to remember. Why couldn't anybody understand that?

'Where?'

'Neal looked down at his body, swallowing uncomfortably.

'Where were the bruises, Neal?'

And then suddenly he could feel Wade's hands grabbing his hips again, restraining him, feel a hardness pressing against his backside… Oh God! He had to get away. He wanted to shout; to tell Wade to get off, but his throat was closing up making speech impossible. His hands were shaking, his heart was pounding, he could hear his own breathing; rapid, shallow, harsh making his chest hurt and then his vision began to tunnel until there was nothing except a pin-point of light…

A voice calling his name brought him back from unconsciousness. He opened his eyes to find Frank looking at him, a thoughtful expression on his face.

'How long…?' He croaked out.

'Only a few seconds and given by your question, I'll wager that this isn't the first time you've passed out after a panic attack, hmm?'

'No.' Neal whispered swiping at his face as he felt that pricking sensation building behind his eyelids heralding the arrival of tears that seemed to come on so easily and without any warning these days. 'I'm sorry; I don't know what's wrong with me…'

'There's nothing to be sorry about, Neal. Shit happens as they say. And what's wrong with you is that you're suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder brought on by a series of horrific events which put you in a situation that you were unable to escape from and had no control over. None of this was your fault and nothing you could have done could have stopped it. You weren't given a choice, Neal, but you do have a choice in where you go from here…

'I think we've reached the end of what we can usefully talk about today but I need to know a little bit more about you and your situation before I can write that report for you. Shall we say Thursday? Same time?'

Neal nodded, shakily.

'So… Would you like that water now?' Dr. Daley said in a conversational tone and sitting back in his chair as though he were just asking Neal what time of day it was rather than having witnessed him have a meltdown and then pass out.

'Yeah, okay.' Neal whispered thinking how woefully inadequate both he and his con had been. Dr. Daley had definitely won this round. Neal vowed to better next time.

**Recovery: Day 93**

'Come on, come on!' Neal chanted in a high-pitched voice, his heels together, his knees splayed widely apart and with his hand wrapped tightly around his penis, pumping for all he was worth.

'Oh yeah, that's good, Peter, that's so good…' He moaned breathlessly as his left hand moved rhythmically back and forth across his chest rubbing and stroking his nipples.

'I'm nearly there. Oh God! I need you to… My balls… Touch my balls, Peter…' He whispered to the empty room while skimming his hand lightly over his stomach and tightly muscled abdomen before reaching down between his legs to cup his testicles…

It had been three months since the thing with Wade, three months since Peter had picked up the pieces of his humiliating and very public meltdown and told him that he would recover and that he would be there waiting for whenever Neal was ready to start a relationship again but until that time there would be no touching unless Neal initiated it; Neal was in charge of his own body and was to be in control in the bedroom if and when the time came.

And Neal had just nodded his agreement while pulling his clothes tightly around himself, shivering a little, trying to persuade Peter that he was just cold instead of so relieved that he thought he might actually cry for a moment because at that point in time just the thought of anyone's hands on him, let alone getting naked and actually contemplating having sex was enough to bring him out in a cold sweat and then send him rushing to the bathroom where he would vomit until he was bringing up nothing but bile.

And Peter had stayed true to his word; their relationship became a strictly hands off affair; he'd not laid a finger on Neal in any way whatsoever, for which Neal was both immeasurably grateful and profoundly relieved, however the same could not be said for the rest of the staff. And while no one was blunt enough to actually ask how he was doing, they all seemed to want to hug him or pat him on the shoulder or shake his hand and it took all of Neal's people skills and confidence tricks and misdirection to avoid any sort of touch without it being noticed and without alienating his co-workers.

But the stress of that constant vigilance, of avoiding physical contact with everyone, of trying to maintain the act that everything was well and that nothing had happened to him and that he was absolutely fine began to take its toll and Neal found it increasingly difficult to take an active role at work, no longer offering hints of alleged past crimes committed or requesting further information on suspects, his smile, once dazzling and so readily given was now rarely in evidence and if one did make an appearance, it never reached his eyes. He also found it almost impossible to concentrate for any length of time and became even more twitchy than usual, jiggling his foot or tapping his fingers or twirling his pen incessantly at briefings causing Peter to finally call him out at the end of the meeting to ask what was going on.

Of course he denied anything was wrong, just that he was tired as he hadn't been sleeping much because of, well, you know… And he knew that Peter would understand and Peter did, frowning as he stared hard at Neal as if hoping that Neal would change the habit of a life time and suddenly give away his secrets like that, just because Peter wished him to.

'Come on, walk with me. Tell me what that big old brain of yours is thinking about our last case…'

And so Neal did and walking around the office and up and down the stairs and corridors allowed Neal's mind to free up all the information he had gathered and tell Peter what he needed to know without the worry of running into anyone who might want to touch him. And when Neal got distracted or worried or wound-up, Peter would lead them off to a secluded area and then step in front of him forcing Neal to stop or risk bumping into him and would say:

'Neal! Look at me! Put your hand on my chest and feel me breathe. Slow your breathing down to match mine.'

And then when Neal had calmed down, at least enough that he wasn't in danger of passing out any more, Peter would whisper:

'We'll get through this together, Neal…'

After which Neal would feel that distinctive pricking sensation begin behind his eyelids which he knew from previous experience that no amount of furious blinking or repeated swallowing would prevent the tears from welling up and eventually overflowing; spilling down his cheeks and traitorously revealing his delicate mental state and just how close he was to completely losing his ability to cope. At that point he would pull his hand away from Peter's chest and turn around in embarrassment, angrily swiping at his face and the evidence of his distress so as not to humiliate himself even further in front of the man he owed both his life and sanity to.

Despite hating himself for becoming so emotional and tearful whenever Peter was kind and understanding towards him during one of his panic attacks he also knew that he felt safe with Peter and that nobody would approach him while he was talking to the boss. So he began following Peter around, always carrying a file that could be used as an excuse to discuss a case or that could be held in front of him, hugged tightly against his chest warning people to stay clear. He also began using Peter as a shield standing behind and just off to one side of him, because nobody would have the guts to barge through Peter to get to him.

Once Peter had got wind of what was happening by accidentally catching Neal nearly jumping out of his skin when he was innocently tapped on the shoulder while working at his desk and then following him to the restroom where he witnessed one of Neal's protracted puking episodes, he prevented anyone from coming near Neal again by reaming him out in front of the whole department over some minute point of protocol not followed, making it appear that Neal had finally overstepped his mark and could only work in Peter's office under his direct supervision as well as indicating that he had totally recovered from his ordeal as Peter wasn't the sort of man or boss that would shout at someone still suffering from emotional trauma and therefore if Peter thought fit to treat Neal just as before then so should everybody else.

And Neal was so pathetically grateful because all the stress that had been building within him, weighing him down and threatening to overwhelm him due to living with the constant fear of being inadvertently touched and provoking a flashback in the middle of the office; all that stress had suddenly been released making him feel so light-headed that he practically sagged with relief against Peter's desk.

'Is everything okay?' Peter asked in concern.

'It is now.' He replied giving his saviour a lop-sided goofy grin.

'Good!' Peter said gruffly. 'So you can get on with your work and stay out of trouble. You won't be bothered in here, Neal.'

And for the first time since his ordeal with Wade had happened, Neal slept through the night.

Things got much better at the office after that and soon Neal was back to his suave, sophisticated, charming flirty self, laughing and joking with his co-workers but on his terms, knowing that he could take refuge in Peter's office with the excuse that if Peter caught him out and about without supervision, he would be in big trouble.

But despite the outward appearances of normality, other parts of his life were still far from normal; Neal hadn't tried to touch himself 'down there' since the thing with Wade had happened nearly three months earlier; it was like the area below his waist was dead to him. He didn't get turned on any more, didn't feel sexy, didn't feel the desire or the need to explore and play with his body and so the only action he saw was during his morning shower while performing a quick, perfunctory wash of his genitals, touching himself no longer than was strictly necessary to keep his body clean.

And even if he had been in the mood and wanted to indulge in a little self-love like all men did on a regular basis there was no point because once again he couldn't get it up. Logically he knew from after his experience in prison that things would get better; that his body and mind would eventually sort things out on their own and that he would be able to get hard again and achieve orgasm, but last time it had taken nearly a year for that to happen. And while he wasn't exactly desperate to have sex any time soon, this time Peter was waiting for him and so he owed it not only to himself but to Peter too to try and get things moving again in that department.

And Peter had been so good to him and looked after him and always made things better when it sometimes felt like he was going to explode that soon Neal was thinking of Peter all the time. He wanted to do what Peter asked of him, wanted to see him smile when he came up with yet another idea that eventually helped Peter close a case, wanted to make him proud that he was coping, managing, recovering and learning to live his life again.

It had been three months since he had had an erection and three months since he'd even been able to think about sex until last night when he'd dreamed about being with Peter. Normally, he woke up with a start; disoriented, sweating, agitated and with an irrational fear that something awful was going to happen to him, but this day was different. Today, he felt rested, calm and he realized that he had surfaced from sleep slowly, gradually and naturally with no nightmares or strangled screams to awaken him prematurely. He smiled as he stretched his arms above his head. For the first time in three months he felt relaxed and happy and had had a pretty amazing sex dream too. It was also the first time in three months that he had woken up with morning wood.

Initially, he didn't realize anything was different as the feeling of having an erection was now so completely alien to him. But as he rolled over in bed he recognized the long forgotten full and heavy sensation that an engorged penis tended to bring. He slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position before swiftly tugging the comforter back exposing the tent-like bulge in the crotch of his pyjamas. With his heart thumping loudly in his ears, he carefully eased his pants down over his hips and groin, exposing himself to the cool room air and just sat there, staring stupidly, wondrously at his erection.

It was a full minute before he actually began to touch himself; gingerly wrapping his hand around his length and slowly starting to stroke back and forth… Not wanting to stop even for a second he used his feet to push his pyjamas off the rest of the way then drew his heels up towards his body allowing his knees to flop apart giving him more room to manoeuvre.

'Come on, come on!' Neal chanted in a high-pitched voice, his hand now wrapped tightly around his penis, pumping for all he was worth.

'Oh yeah, that's good, Peter, that's so good…I'm nearly there. Oh God! I need you to… My balls… Touch my balls, Peter…' He whispered, reaching down between his legs to cup his testicles.

A few seconds later he was tugging at his sac and rubbing and pulling his foreskin over his cock like he'd never had a three month dry spell at all. And then before he knew what was happening, his balls were contracting and suddenly he was coming and semen was spurting out of him, his body jerking and muscles twitching while he gasped as the exquisite pleasure of orgasm enveloped him once again.

Spent and sticky he relaxed back on the bed, breathing deeply, basking in the afterglow and smiling with tears of relief in his eyes that his impotence and worrying lack of desire had not been a permanent state of affairs for him. The logical part of his mind knew that it wouldn't be but the emotional part of him got very worried at the possibility that a man of his young age and in his sexual prime was both no longer able and, what was possibly even worse, didn't have the slightest inclination to have sex any more leaving him high and dry, up tight and stressed and with no clear plan about how to put it right.

Looking on the bright side of things though as Neal was wont to do being very much a proactive and upbeat person, this time his dry spell had only lasted three months compared to last time where he hadn't got any sort of action for almost a year. It was also fortuitous that this part of his recovery had occurred now because Peter was getting impatient. Not that he'd said anything or broken his promise and touched him, but Neal wasn't a master con for nothing; he could sense things about people and Peter's body language told him he was frustrated and quite honestly Neal couldn't blame him. Three months was a long time to wait and with no end in sight even if he was getting it at home from the lovely Elizabeth.

Neal trusted Peter with his life. He also trusted him to remain true to his promise when he said he would wait for Neal as long as it took for him to feel comfortable again before starting up a sexual relationship and that he wouldn't walk out of Neal's life, in a social sense anyway, just because Neal didn't feel like putting out. And at first Neal didn't believe him because why would anyone want to spend time with him; the real Neal Caffrey, not some made up rich and beautiful alias he used to con people, if they weren't getting sex?

Neal knew that he was considered attractive, both in face and form and did what he could to reinforce that image by styling his hair in a certain way, by wearing tight-fitting, tailored clothing and by projecting an air of confidence and self-assurance that could turn heads, both male and female, whenever he walked into a room. Attracting a mark using his physicality was easy but sometimes people wanted more than just a pretty face on their arm, they wanted him in their bed too. So if the prize was deemed worth it, Neal would follow through on his con and spend the night on his back in pursuit of his goal, his marks being of both sexes; after all gender wasn't an issue when the end justified the means.

But Peter wasn't a mark. He didn't want to con Peter. And Peter had seen him in some pretty dreadful positions; an orange jumpsuit for one, unconscious and not breathing, two, drugged out of his mind, singing at the top of his voice, three, not to mention more recent situations; he wasn't beautiful or self-confident when he was naked, screaming and being sexually assaulted. He wasn't charming or sophisticated when he was hyperventilating, shaking and vomiting after a flashback from the rape in prison. Yet even after Peter had seen him at his worst, had seen the aftermath when he was bruised, battered, stressed, up tight if anyone came near him, hysterical if they actually touched him, Peter still kept coming back, still spent time with Neal at the weekends, in the evenings after work and not once did he touch him, even accidentally, or try to get him to talk about what had happened for which Neal was eternally grateful.

And for the first few weeks, Neal didn't notice much of anything, he was too busy just concentrating on surviving but after a few months when he'd gotten used to Peter being in his apartment and he didn't jump or flinch every time Peter sat down next to him, when he had gotten comfortable with Peter's calming presence so much so that he felt agitated and out-of-sorts when he wasn't there, he began noticing odd little details like how Peter was always watching him, how his breath would hitch when Neal leant over his desk at work, how he would inhale deeply when Neal was standing close to him and recently how he would flush and then shift awkwardly in his seat when Neal would stare at him.

It was clear that Peter was still interested but Neal had a feeling that it wasn't going to stay that way for much longer. This was the first time since 'it' had happened that Peter had had plans for the whole of the weekend. Normally they went out for a drink or a meal on Friday and then Peter would either spend Saturday with him at June's or Neal would go round to the house in Brooklyn and have dinner with him and Elizabeth. Occasionally they spent Sunday together as well, but not this weekend, because Peter had _plans_. And while Neal didn't begrudge Elizabeth taking Peter away because she was, well, married to him for starters and she was also kind and caring and nice to him even though she knew what he was (a criminal who was in love with her husband) and what had happened to him (he'd been physically and sexually assaulted and was now suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and was a total emotional wreck) he did begrudge David Durrance getting tickets to some game and if he was honest, Peter too for accepting them.

He knew that Peter would never cheat on his wife with another woman, after all why would he when Elizabeth was all anyone could ever need or want, not to mention the fact that Elizabeth was a little scary sometimes and would probably castrate Peter if she ever found out and she would find out because Peter's game face was awful and he couldn't lie to save his life (or his marriage), but another man? Well, he was living proof that that could happen because of the two times Peter had come back to his loft and he still couldn't get over the fact that Peter had confessed all to Elizabeth and she had condoned his actions and in some ways actually seemed to encourage them.

And while he didn't think there was anything sexual going on between Peter and Durrance, because Durrance was as homophobically straight as it was possible for any man to be, he did wonder whether there was actually some sort of 'thing' happening; in Peter's case, a kind of mentor/friend thing or in Durrance's case, a kind of hero-worship/FBI-idol thing or was it just as Peter had said; he'd scored some tickets to a game?

Peter had told him that Durrance was a good agent because he was methodical, predictable and followed orders; three things that most definitely did not apply to Neal. Was this Peter's way of saying that's what he wanted from Neal or was it Peter's way of telling him that he was fed up of waiting and while Durrance might be a slow-witted suck-up he was a real law abiding FBI agent who didn't get either himself or his handler into trouble. He also could talk to Peter about sports, enjoyed drinking beer, was physically much closer to Peter's height and build than Neal's, not to mention emotionally intact, obedient and available.

But once again Neal's pragmatic approach to life took over because it wasn't going to be a problem any more given the evidence, some of it still partially drying on his skin, of today's amazing performance. Peter had told him it was to be hands off until Neal decided it was time. Well that time had come. Monday morning would see him back in the saddle, both for the FBI but more importantly for Peter himself. He had a lot of lost time to make up and a lot of new fantasies to try out. Sex, including the solo variety, was in many ways much like a good con; it involved preparation, skill, a little bit of luck and a lot of practice. And Neal intended to spend the rest of the weekend practising. After all, practice was said to make perfect and Neal wanted to be perfect for Peter.


	4. Chapter 3

**Trust and Protection: Recovery**

**Chapter 3**

**Recovery: Day 3**

'Christ Caffrey, you look like shit!' Ruiz said as Neal came into his office.

'For God's sake Ruiz, show some sensitivity for once in your life! You know what he's been through…' Peter said angrily.

'Yeah…' Ruiz said frowning as he leant back in his chair watching Neal carefully.

Neal for his part remained motionless, his body relaxed as he stared back at Ruiz, his expression shuttered but otherwise not giving any indication that anything untoward had happened to him less than three days ago.

'How did the hospital go, Caffrey? Face okay?' Ruiz inclined his head in the direction of Neal's bruised and swollen cheek bone.

'It's fine thank you!' Neal replied with one of his trademark smiles.

'Good! And the rest of the exam?'

Peter noticed a slight hitch in Neal's breathing before he answered with another blinding smile.

'Fine!'

'Bloods and forensics all done?' Ruiz added in a pointed fashion.

This time Peter saw Neal's body tense and the smile slipped slightly.

'Caffrey?' Ruiz queried, his voice taking on its more usual hostile tone.

'It's all done, Ruiz. We got your evidence, now lay off him.' Peter said gruffly wanting to put his hand on Neal's shoulder to reassure him but not daring to do so in case he freaked out like he'd done so many times before. He hoped that just moving closer to him would get the message across that he was safe and Peter was looking out for him.

'No Burke, I don't think I will. I gave you the weekend which I didn't have to do on the understanding that you came in first thing on Monday. You know the rules because here you are. So if you'll excuse us, Burke, I need to get Caffrey's statement…'

'Neal?' Peter asked, making it clear that he was willing to stay if Neal felt that he couldn't go through this alone.

'He's a big boy, Burke, I think he can answer a few questions by himself!' Ruiz said sarcastically.

Neal turned to look at Peter and smiled gratefully at the obvious concern radiating from him.

'I'm fine Peter, I'll see you later…'

'You're sure…?' Peter said his voice uncertain.

'Jesus, Burke! The man's your criminal fucking CI, not your boy-friend! So for God's sake let me take his statement and then we can all get out and have an early lunch. Christ! I don't want to have to talk to him any more than you seem to want to leave him here so the sooner we get this over with and he tells me what happened the sooner you can have him back! So go on… Get out!'

'I'll be waiting in the other room, Neal…' Peter told him before throwing Ruiz a filthy look as he closed the door behind him.

'So… Let's get started shall we? And no jerking me around; you answer the questions fully, to the best of your knowledge without leaving anything out. And it goes without saying Caffrey that if you lie to me, I will find a way to revoke your parole agreement and put you back in prison where you'll be Vincent Wade's cell mate for the next 20 years. Then we'll see what happens to Burke's closure rate when he doesn't have his little pet-con to get all the info from his criminal friends. Do I make myself clear?' Ruiz smiled nastily.

'Perfectly!' Neal said quietly.

'Good, so tell me what happened when you went upstairs to Wade's hotel room…'

'He pulled a gun on me as soon as I got through the door.'

'And?' Ruiz motioned for him to continue.

'He was suspicious as to who I was. He didn't believe that I was a friend of Logan's. You know what he said; you've got it on tape.'

'So I do, but I want to hear your side of the story. Continue…'

'I tried to reassure him that I was just a friend of Logan's but he wouldn't have it.'

'Did he think you were after Michaels? Was he jealous?' Ruiz said in a nasty voice indicating just what he thought of homosexual relationships.

'Yes…' Neal said coloring slightly.

'Did you know that Michaels was gay?'

'What has that got to do with the investigation?' Neal asked indignantly.

'Answer the question, Caffrey…'

'I suspected that he might be.'

'Your 'gaydar' tell you that did it?' Ruiz sneered.

'Since I'm sure that question wouldn't be allowed in court, I'll presume that it was rhetorical and not dignify it with an answer.' Neal said smiling politely as he sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

'Did you use that information on Michaels?'

'What information?'

'That you suspected he might be gay.'

'Did I use the information that I thought he might be gay? In what way would I use that?'

'Don't be try and play coy Caffrey, it doesn't suit you. Did you use the fact that Michaels was gay to try and gain his confidence by having sex with him or by promising him sexual favours in return for getting the goods on Wade?'

'No, I did not.'

'Come on Caffrey, I've seen how you flirt with people; it doesn't matter what sex your mark is if you want something from them. You met with Michaels, you knew he was gay and you're telling me you didn't come on to him, didn't even hint that you might be gay too for the sake of getting the info on Wade, something that no one else including the golden boy Peter Burke had ever been able to do before?'

'I felt sorry for him, I tried to be-friend him, but he was so shy, so submissive.'

'Yet he kept agreeing to meet you. So if you didn't come on to him, did he come on to you?'

'No.'

'Why not? Don't tell me the great Neal Caffrey is losing his charm?'

'I think he was just happy to have someone to talk to.'

'Yet Wade thought he fancied you…'

Neal didn't answer.

'So Wade got all pissy 'cos he thought you were having a bit on the side with his boy and decides to teach you a lesson, right?'

'Yes.'

'So when did you get your clothes off?'

'He turned the gun from me to Logan and said if I didn't take my shirt off within 30 seconds he'd blow Logan's brains out!'

'So what did you do?'

'You know what I did! I took my shirt off to show him that I wasn't wearing a gun or a wire.'

'And did seeing you strip satisfy him?'

'No. He was still suspicious.'

'What did you do next?'

'I tried to get him to take me into his office on the pretext of showing me his art like he'd suggested…'

'He offered to show you his etchings did he?' Ruiz sneered. 'And you were still parading around his hotel room half naked at this point were you?'

'I tried to get dressed but he wouldn't let me.' Neal explained.

'Right…'Ruiz said in a voice that made it obvious he didn't believe that for one moment.

'So what happened next?'

'He…He touched me.'

'Where?'

'My chest.' Neal said uncomfortably.

'And?

'I told him to stop.'

'Did he?' Ruiz asked conversationally even though he already knew the answer to that question.

'No.'

'Carry on.'

'He hit me.'

'Where?'

'My face.'

'Then what?'

'Then… Then he put the gun to my head.'

'Then what?'

'Then Logan told him to stop.'

'And?'

'Wade hit the roof. He started screaming at Logan calling him a traitor then he turned the gun on him and shot him in the chest.'

'Then what happened?'

'I…I can't remember… There was a lot of blood.'

'What did Wade do next?'

'I don't remember…'

'Did Wade touch you, hit you, restrain you… What?'

'Yes!'

'Yes to which?'

'Yes to all three!'

'Okay. Did he say anything?'

'Like what?'

'Like what he wanted to do to you. Come on Caffrey! He's angry in fact he's so angry, he's just shot his lover, a lover that he thought was having an affair with you. What does he want from you? What does he say to you?'

'I don't know. I can't remember. I thought Logan was dead…'

'Well, let me try and refresh your memory. This is the tape from the wire…'

Neal's eyes widened in realization of what he was about to hear, of what he was about to be reminded of…

Ruiz pressed the play button.

'_Oh, did you hear that, Logan? The pretty boy's standing up for you; all that fire and spunk and defiance flashing in those beautiful blue eyes. I'm getting hard from just imaging what that gorgeous mouth is going to be doing for me in a few minutes…' _

There was the sound of a hard slap followed by a yelp that Neal recognized as his own.

'_Stop! Don't touch me…' _

His voice had been shrill and high-pitched; it, no, _he_, sounded terrified.

Then there was a muffled thump, an odd scratching noise, a clatter as something fell on the floor, rapid and harsh breath sounds…

'_Not so spirited now are you? Not so confident when you're about to have a real man's cock up your ass, you little shit…'_

'_Vincent, stop, please. Don't…don't do this.'_

'_Logan? What the fuck?'_

'_I won't let you h-hurt anyone else…'_

'_Logan, put the gun down. We both know you won't use it.'_

'_Let him go…'_

'_Put the gun down, Logan, you fucking traitor!' _

Neal jumped as the sound of a shot rang out from the tape.

'_No!'_

That was his voice… Oh God! He knew what was coming next…

'_Oh yeah…You want it, so bad…Take it, you fucking slut…'_

Then more thumps, more struggling, scrabbling, scratching, more rapid, laboured, hysterical breathing, choking sobs, painful gasps and pitiful whimpers…

'_FBI! Hands in the air!'_

People shouting, doors slamming, radios crackling, more yelling…

'_Get away from him!' _

That was Peter's voice; urgent, concerned, angry, alarmed, distraught. Oh God, Peter would see, Peter would know what had been done to him…

Grunting… Swearing… Wet skin slapping…

Neal jumped as suddenly a scream rang out from the tape.

He couldn't remember screaming, but it must have been him, but it sounded so awful; full of torment and anguish, full of pain, devastating distress and profound suffering…

There was a buzzing in his ears, his heart was thumping furiously as though it was trying to beat its way out of his chest and any minute now his stomach was going to rebel. He could hear Ruiz's voice in the background talking about things he didn't want to remember…

'…When did he take your pants down? How did he restrain you? Did he hold your hips, grab you by the hair, pin your arms? Answer me, Caffrey! This is what the jury is going to need to know if a charge of attempted rape is going to stick.'

_No, no, no! _

'The judge will play the tape and you're going to be asked where he touched you and what he did to you…'

'I'm not going to court.' Neal whispered getting to his feet.

'What? Of course you are, now sit back down and give me your statement.'

'I don't need to give a statement because I'm not pressing charges.'

'What the fuck, Caffrey? He tried to rape you! If you don't stand up in court and tell the judge just what he did to you then he's going to be out on bail in a couple of days and he'll be free to do it again…'

Neal stumbled towards the door. The tingling was back in his fingers, his chest felt as though there was a tight band around it constricting his breathing, his vision was starting to tunnel. He had to get out of the room before he embarrassed himself in front of Ruiz, before he passed out…

'Or is that what you want, Caffrey? Did you like what he did to you…? I saw you lying over that desk just taking it from Wade… Caffrey? If you walk out that door…I'll be on the phone to Hughes and you can kiss your sweet deal with Burke goodbye…'

Neal opened the door with shaking hands. Peter was on his feet in an instant.

'Get him back here, Burke!' Ruiz screamed, incandescent with rage. 'He refused to make a statement…If Caffrey doesn't testify, I'll see to it personally that he's back in prison for good and you'll be pushing paper around a desk in Alaska for the next 20 years…'

Peter looked at Neal's ashen face as he half ran, half stumbled towards the exit.

'What the hell did you do to him?' He yelled before running out into the corridor after Neal where he heard the unmistakable sounds of vomiting coming from the men's bathroom.

**Recovery: Day 95 08:55**

It was with joy in his heart and a bounce in his step that Neal entered the white collar crimes division of the FBI offices bright and early on Monday morning. He was buzzing with eager anticipation; today was the day that he was going to be back on the team and once again take his rightful place as Peter's partner in crime. Wait a moment, maybe partner 'solving' crime sounded better? Hmm… Perhaps it would be best to omit the 'C' word full stop Neal reasoned to himself; after all Peter always tended to get a little agitated when the words 'crime' and 'Caffrey' were mentioned in close proximity and he didn't want to make Peter upset today. So to reiterate…Today was the day he would he would regain his place as Peter's right hand man and partner. And by partner, he meant in every sense of the word.

After taking himself in hand (as it were!) on Saturday morning and discovering that he didn't seem to be as broken in body or mind as he'd feared because he managed to get an erection and not long after achieve culmination with a mind-shattering climax, he then went on to spend the rest of the weekend frantically making up for lost time.

There was one worrying moment after he'd showered and had breakfast that caused him some considerable anxiety when his body seemed to have forgotten what it had just done not half an hour earlier and no matter how he touched himself, his penis remained stubbornly limp and lifeless. He could feel himself getting uptight, feel the adrenaline beginning to surge inside him fuelling his desperation and fear that once again he was impotent and knew that if he wasn't careful he would have another full blown panic attack.

So as he had been doing lately whenever the hysteria threatened to overwhelm him in work, he thought of Peter; of his big, solid, comforting presence and his calm and soothing voice repeating over and over that he was going to be okay. In his mind he could hear Peter telling him to relax, to slow his breathing down and then his hands were on Peter's chest and then he was imagining Peter as he had seen him that last time in his apartment; with his pants open and his big dick jutting out, stiff and swollen, its tip almost purple in color and glistening with precome.

He could feel himself panting but this time it wasn't from fear, it was from arousal and the next thing he knew, he was as hard as a rock and couldn't stop touching himself, Peter's voice whispering in his mind, encouraging him, egging him on, telling him all the filthy things he'd like to do to him, ramping him higher and higher and then… Oh God! He was coming; back arching, knees flexing, toes curling, his penis twitching and spurting hot jets of semen over his chest and abdomen, then dribbling down over his hand, while all the time he was chanting, his voice, high-pitched and broken…

'_Peter, Peter, Oh God, Peter…'_

After that, all he had to do was to think of Peter; Peter staring at him, Peter kissing him, Peter reaching for him and slowly undoing his belt buckle and he was hard in an instant and couldn't seem to get his clothes off quick enough in order to reach down between his legs, grabbing and pulling at his cock, tugging his sac and rolling his balls, gasping and moaning before erupting all over himself once more…

Neal punched the elevator button with perhaps more force than was necessary then ran his fingers through his already perfectly styled hair trying to distract himself from the erotic and very stimulating memories; just thinking back on it was making him get all hot and bothered, but all in all, a very profitable and pleasurable weekend despite never having left his rooms once. And now it was time to tell Peter that he was ready; ready to start thinking about getting back into a relationship including all the physical aspects that that entailed…

The elevator doors opened and Neal took a deep calming breath before straightening his spine, squaring his shoulders and striding purposefully out through the bull-pen and up the stairs towards Peter's office. He could see Peter's dark head bent over his desk but then another dark head appeared and Peter looked up and smiled as he reached forward to take the cup of coffee proffered to him. Durrance! Neal felt a sharp stab of jealousy because Peter hadn't smiled at him like that for a long time. Neal's confident pace slowed as he watched Peter take a sip of his beverage and close his eyes in appreciation before leaning back in his 'relaxed' pose, paperwork now forgotten as he started up a conversation with his newest agent.

Neal's joyful mood of this morning evaporated completely and had been replaced with that all too familiar feeling of anxiety that gnawed at his insides making his heart thump, his hands shake and his stomach churn unpleasantly. Peter had told him on Friday that he was only going out with Durrance to watch the basketball and Neal believed that nothing physical was going on between them but they had been spending an awful lot of time together these last couple of months since he'd been out of action and sidelined and it seemed that maybe Durrance was trying to take his place as Peter's sounding board, his go-to man, his confidant and his friend. And Neal had been through too much with Peter to let that that trust and friendship just disappear.

His plan had been to tell Peter today that he was ready to think about getting back together, to start off slow like Peter suggested, to try some gentle touching, let Peter hug him for a change and maybe even some kissing, but seeing Peter smiling and chatting and joking with Durrance, seeing him encouraging the man to keep coming into his office like he owned the place, watching him _flirt_…the plan and its time schedule would have to change. Peter had been very patient with him but maybe this was his way of saying he couldn't wait any longer and if Neal wasn't up for it then there were plenty of people out there who were and Neal couldn't bear for that to happen. Therefore, he was going to have to tell Peter that he was ready now; that the long wait was over for both of them and that he wanted to have sex tonight.

He felt his heart thumping in his chest and tried to ignore the queasy feeling in his stomach. It would be okay he reassured himself. After all, he had just spent the whole weekend having sex (albeit the solo variety) and fantasizing about all the things he wanted Peter to do to him and it had been wonderful. He was better now. He could do this. He could do this for Peter. He _had_ to…So for the second time this morning, Neal stood up straight and squared his shoulders before strolling nonchalantly into Peter's office, his mask of suave sophistication firmly in place, his body language radiating confidence and control and with a dazzling smile adorning his beautiful face.

'Good morning, Peter, Agent Durrance!'

'Ah, Neal, there you are! Just in time to come to Hughes' briefing. We've got a new case…' Peter said, his eyes spakling.

'Great! Always glad to be of service to the FBI.'

Durrance clenched his jaw but otherwise made no comment apart from a grudging acknowledgment of Neal's presence.

'Caffrey!'

Peter's face twitched as he tried not to smile. It was obvious that his newest agent did not appreciate his consultant's unique way of working.

'Come on, guys, we don't want to be late…'

'Peter, could I have a word?'

'What now?'

'Yes!'

'Can it wait?'

'No…'

'Okay. What's up?' Peter said rummaging through his desk drawers for his pen.

'Um…'

Peter stopped what he was doing and looked up at Neal. The young man appeared decidedly nervous and for Neal that was saying something because he rarely let his body language betray his emotions.

Peter glanced quickly over at Agent Durrance who hadn't moved and was still glaring at Neal as though he thought he was going to steal something right under his nose.

'Can you give us a minute David? Tell Hughes I'm on my way.' He added as the Agent left the room.

'So, what's on your mind Neal?'

'How was the game on Friday? Did you have a nice weekend with Elizabeth?'

'This is what you wanted to talk to me about? Neal! I've got a briefing with Hughes, now let's go…'

'Peter, wait!

'Neal…' Peter warned.

'I want you to come over to my place this evening. I want you to… I want us to start...'

'Are you sure?' Peter breathed, cutting him off, knowing exactly what he was talking about.

'Yes. I want us to be together again.'

'God! You don't know how long I've been waiting…hoping to hear you say that.'

'So you'll come over tonight?'

'Yes, yes! Wild horses couldn't keep me away! Shit Neal, why did you have to tell me now? I've got to sit through one of Hughes' meetings. I'm supposed to be concentrating on a new case and instead, all I'm going to thinking about is you!' Peter groaned.

'I wanted to tell you straight away. I spent the whole weekend reacquainting myself with, uh, myself!'

'And everything's okay? With… I mean, in that department?'

'Yeah…Everything's fine and in perfect working order.'

Neal took a deep breath in.

'I'm ready, Peter.'

'Good. I'm glad and thanks for telling me, Neal. But now, we really have to go. Hughes and the FBI wait for no one.'

**Recovery: Day 95 09:05**

'This is Gerhardt Deringer.' Hughes told the briefing room five minutes later. He's an investment banker who also has a passion for art…'

'Don't we all!' Neal put his head on one side as he sighed longingly.

'I meant legitimate art, Caffrey…' Hughes said pointedly staring at Neal.'

'As did I, for there is of course, no other type. Isn't that right, Sir…?' Neal said, over-earnestly.

There was a snicker from Jones which turned into a cough as Hughes' glare turned in his direction.

Peter allowed himself a smirk before schooling his features back into the serious mask that the gravity of an FBI investigation demanded. God he had missed this; missed Neal's input, sincere or otherwise in his daily work. Having Neal sitting next to him again, felt so right and later on this evening he would be 'having' Neal in a totally different way. He couldn't wait!

'Shut up, Caffrey!' Hughes told him and then added in a warm almost affectionate tone, 'and welcome back!'

Peter smiled for real this time. It seemed then that he wasn't the only one who had missed the quixotic and brilliant ex-con.

'Anyway, let us now return to the case…' Hughes cleared his throat, his gruff, no-nonsense tone firmly back in place. 'Mr. Deringer has recently acquired several new paintings and decided that he should get his entire collection revalued and if necessary re-insured. Everything was fine until this painting came up…'

A photo of a painting was projected onto the wall. Peter leaned forward. It was an oil-painting of the Rialto bridge in Venice, Italy; there were canals, stone steps, the brightly colored red and white striped poles for tying boats to and the sun was reflecting off the water; everything you would expect from a scene depicting Venice. There was nothing special about it yet somehow it made Peter feel joyous and carefree. It was just… beautiful.

'It's called…' Hughes looked down at his briefing notes.

'Rialto bridge at Venice.'

'Original!' Jones said.

'It was painted by a little known artist called Rose Pasma a couple of years before the second world war began.' Hughes continued, ignoring the quip.

'How much is it worth?'

'When he brought it originally? A couple of thousand bucks. Now? Just over a couple of million.'

'A sound investment!'

'So what's the problem, then?'

'The insurance company say that the painting in Mr. Deringer's possession is not the one that they originally insured.'

'So it's a fake?'

'That is what they are intimating.'

'So was the original one the original?' Durrance asked.

'The insurance company are happy that it was.'

'So the insurance copy doesn't match Deringer's copy?' Peter clarified.

'Correct!' Hughes told him. 'Caffrey! Anything to add?'

'When was the original insured?'

'Fourteen years ago.'

'That's a long time ago…So theoretically the switch could have been made at any time since then.'

'And?'

'And… It's a nice picture?'

Hughes rolled his eyes.

'Peter?'

'I'd like to try and narrow that time frame down a little; find out whether Deringer ever moved the painting to display it or lent it out to anyone. Has he ever had any dealings with the police at all in that time, anything we could dig out to help give us a lead?'

'Then that's where you start looking. Mr. Deringer wants to know where his painting went. Peter, he's happy to talk to you at any time.' Hughes told him before leaving the room.

Peter sat back watching his agents moving back to their desks to begin their new assignment, all that was except for Neal who was still sitting motionless and seemingly mesmerized by the picture on the wall.

'What's the matter with you?' He asked, 'you look like you've just seen a ghost!'

'Just happy to back at work, that's all,' Neal replied, turning and smiling brightly at him.

Peter narrowed his eyes thoughtfully as he watched Neal leave the room noting how his gaze returned to the picture just before he exited.

Things had been going so well this morning what with Neal telling him he was ready to start a physical relationship and because Neal was back on the team again but now something just didn't feel right. For some reason, Neal's beautiful smile had just put a dampener on his day. Neal knew something about that picture and he was back to his old tricks of trying to play Peter for a fool.

Peter sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache coming on.

**Recovery: Day 95 13:20**

Four hours later, Neal let himself into his apartment to find Mozzie waiting for him at the dining room table.

'I got your SOS. Very mysterious. Rose Pasma, huh? Now that's a name you don't come across every day. Wine?' He asked pouring himself a generous glass.

'No thanks, I'm supposed to be on my lunch-break.' Neal told him pulling a chair out and sitting down next to Mozzie.

'The Suit must be slipping if he's letting you out for lunch…'

'He's busy on this new case.'

'So what's got you all wound up then? Spill…'

'A man called Gerhardt Deringer bought this painting fourteen years ago…'

Neal began, pulling out a photo from his inside jacket pocket and spreading it out on the table for Mozzie to see.

Mozzie inspected it for 30 seconds or so then looked up at Neal his eyebrows raised obviously waiting for more of the story.

'Yesterday he had it revalued in order to re-insure it, but the insurance company said that it didn't match their copy and are saying that Deringer's version is a fake.'

'Is it?' Mozzie asked tipping his head on the side and staring at Neal.

'Yes.'

'How do you know?'

'Because I switched the original painting with a copy that I forged after it had been presented it to the insurance company for vetting. I have the original and Deringer took home my forgery. The trouble is; Deringer's forgery is not my forgery!'

'First of all, why? And Secondly, how did Deringer get hold of another forgery?'

'Fourteen years ago I got a job in an art gallery. One day I saw this picture of Venice and I fell in love with it; the colors, the brush work, the way it made me feel; so happy and free and as though I could do anything with my life…'

'You could have done anything with your life, you were only 18 and you had all that talent…What were you thinking?'

'It was like it spoke to me Moz!'

'What, and it said 'steal me?' Mozzie shot back incredulously.

Neal gave him a look.

'I'm sorry. Continue. Please!'

'Apology accepted. So me and my 'talent' forged the painting and switched it for the real one. It wasn't worth much so it wasn't under any security…of note.' Neal added, smirking. 'The next day, Deringer came in and saw it and immediately bought it and wanted it valued and insured. He must have seen something in it that I didn't, because I never would have guessed that that little painting would be worth quite so much. Anyway, the gallery had the photos of the original canvas that it had taken for its own insurance purposes, so I had the original authenticated so that they matched but gave Deringer my forgery.'

'So you forged a painting, stole the original and falsified insurance documents all at the age of 18 because a picture 'spoke' to you…' Mozzie said sarcastically.

'Venice to me at that time was this exotic, mysterious, romantic city on a whole different continent that I could only dream about visiting. There was no way at that time I was ever going to leave the state let alone the country and certainly no way I was ever going to go to Europe, so it became a dream to aspire to. Haven't you ever wanted something that you just had to have?' Neal shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

'Point taken…' Mozzie answered, grudgingly.

'So what now?' he said as Neal moved towards a photo of him standing in the middle of a group of his colleagues from the FBI.

'Peter's meeting with Deringer this afternoon to see if he can help us narrow down when the switch might have taken place.' Neal said while opening the picture frame and taking out something hidden from within it. 'And because I wanted to give you this. Just in case, you know, Peter… Well, he's not stupid and I think he suspects something…'

Mozzie took the picture; another copy of the Rialto bridge painting and stared at it before reaching for the photo Neal had shown him at the start of their meeting to compare them.

'Where's the original?'

'Somewhere safe…'

Finally he put both pictures down before smiling fondly up at Neal.

'You always were exceptionally talented…' He said wistfully.


	5. Chapter 4

**Trust and Protection: Recovery**

**Chapter 4**

**Recovery: Day 95 19:00**

That evening after the meeting with Deringer, Peter stood behind Neal waiting anxiously and impatiently for him to unlock the door to his apartment. He was filled with nervous excitement at the thought that in a few minutes he was going to have sex with the gorgeous man in front of him after being denied it for so long. He was also hot and hard and horny as all hell. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt like just by moving he was going to explode any second… Well actually he could and it was probably about six months ago when Neal had gone down on him; that sinful mouth with its talented tongue licking and sucking on his prick; those long slender fingers playing with his balls and probing back between his butt cheeks to press up against his asshole making him get so worked up, so incredibly stimulated that within seconds he had nearly shot his load down Neal's throat…

He pushed the heel of his hand down hard on the base of his cock trying to take himself off the boil and halt the exquisite sensations from overwhelming him. Because if he didn't stop thinking about getting blown by Neal this very instant then he was going to come right here and now and the evening would be over before he'd even gotten in the door…

And then Neal was walking into his apartment and he was stumbling in after him, hand still on his prick, eyes glued to that slender, toned little body, mind running riot imagining what was underneath those expensive and perfectly tailored pants…

'Peter?'

'Mmm?'

God! Neal was so beautiful.

'…The door…'

'Yeah…' He agreed absent-mindedly but not really hearing anything, his brain fixated as it was on Neal and sex.

'Peter!'

'Huh?'

Neal's sharp tone jarred him back to the present, his hand immediately falling away from his crotch.

'I said 'you might want to get the door?' Neal repeated amusement evident in his voice as he took off his jacket and hung it carefully over the back of a chair.

Peter raised his eyes from Neal's ass to his face revealing a knowing smirk. He felt himself blush, embarrassed to have been caught touching himself and staring, but shit, he couldn't help it. It had been too long and he was desperate.

'Right, yeah, the door. I'll just close it then…' He said turning round and quickly knocking it shut, then surreptitiously adjusting himself as his back was turned to Neal.

'Would you like something to eat?' Neal asked from the kitchen.

'No thanks.' Peter replied as he walked back into the center of the room

'A glass of wine?'

'No.'

'Some beer then? I think there's still one here in the back of the fridge…'

What the hell? How could Neal be thinking of his stomach at a time like this or was he prevaricating? Was that anxiety in his voice? Was he having second thoughts?

'Neal… The only thing I want right now is you. That is… Unless you've changed your mind?'

Peter held his breath willing for that not to be the case because he had been looking forward to this all day; hell, he had been looking forward to this for the last three months! He would of course respect Neal's wishes, after all, how could he not given the circumstances but God, he wanted this; _needed_ this, so badly.

'No! No, of course not!' Neal replied, his voice high pitched and indignant.

Peter breathed out in relief.

'Okay then, well why don't we go and sit down and talk about some ground rules?'

'I've got a better idea…Why don't we move this into the bedroom and do what we came here to do. I didn't invite you round to talk, Peter.'

'I just want to make sure…'

'I'm sure, I'm fine.'

'You're sure you're fine or you're sure and you're fine?'

'The latter. Now would you please stop talking and get to it already. Goodness, Peter! From the way you're carrying on anyone would think you didn't want to have sex with me!'

'Neal…'

'Peter, I'm okay, honestly. You don't have to treat me like I'm going to break. I want to do this. I want to…I want you.' Neal said gazing up into Peter's face with wide, earnest, determined blue eyes.

'And I want you too, so badly…'

'Good. That's good…' Neal said softly raising his hands to Peter's neck, loosening then removing his tie. 'So where should we start?'

'Anywhere.' Peter uttered breathlessly. 'You can do anything you want to me. I meant what I said before. You're in charge here. You call the shots. You…Oh God!'

Peter momentarily lost the ability to speak as felt Neal's hand come to rest on his cock.

'You're hard!'

'No shit!' Peter ground out both hoping and fearing that Neal would start to move his hand soon. 'I mean, how could I not be with you standing there in front me?'

And wasn't that the understatement of the year because truth be told, he'd been hard most of the day and it had been a miracle that he'd got any work done at all. But Neal had to have known that, so why then had he made such an obvious comment, unless there was something else going on in that big old brain of his; unless he was worried or scared…

'Aren't you hard too?' Peter asked staring into Neal's wide blue eyes.

'Of course!' He replied with a dazzling smile.

But before Peter could determine the veracity of his statement, Neal's hand started rubbing at his cock and suddenly he couldn't think of anything except the wonderful sensations being generated from his groin.

'What do you need?' Neal's voice whispered in his ear.

'You… This…' Peter managed to get out while rocking his pelvis forward trying to get more contact with Neal's hand. 'But…'

'Tell me what you want.' Neal interrupted smoothly.

And once more Peter's logical mind deserted him and with it the power of speech leaving him breathless with sensory overload and desire.

'Anything…'

'Tell me!' Neal whispered.

'Your hands…Your mouth…'

And then Neal was leaning towards him, his smaller, more slender frame pressing up against Peter's own body, the heat and hardness of it bringing back memories of their previous times together; memories that over the last six months had generated a multitude of erotic fantasies and led to countless wet dreams, but they were nothing compared to the reality that was happening to him right now.

One of Neal's hands snaked around his head and pulled him down into a kiss. Peter opened his mouth automatically as Neal's tongue surged inside. He felt himself grow even harder if that were indeed possible and groaned into Neal's mouth as fluid leaked from the tip of his penis. He wanted to savour every minute of this experience, consign every touch, taste and smell of it to his memory but he couldn't concentrate; Neal was everywhere all at once, his tongue licking and sucking, tasting and thrusting; his hands pulling at his hair, caressing his face and rubbing his erection through the front of his pants, it was all too much, too fast.

'Neal, slow down!' He broke off panting.

'Why? Aren't you enjoying yourself?' Neal whispered trying to latch back onto his lips.

'You know I am, but if you don't stop it's going to be over in the next few seconds, besides, what's the hurry? We've got the whole evening ahead of us…'

'I thought you said that I was in charge, here, when we were doing this…'

'And you are, but this is supposed to be your night and so far, it's all been about me.'

'It is all about you Peter. It's always been about you…'

'Neal…'

'You've been so good and kind and patient and I want to show you how much I appreciate it.'

Neal's breath was warm on his neck.

'Okay, but you don't have to show me like this, Neal.'

'But I want to and I'm charge remember?' Neal said in that husky half whisper that Peter had always found so sexy. 'Besides, don't you think you deserve it? You've waited such a long time for me…'

And then Neal's hand was back on his groin and that wonderful rubbing had started again. Peter gasped at the sensation coming from his dick, his doubts and worries suddenly forgotten, because what Neal said was true; he had waited a long time and he did deserve it and if Neal wanted it too, who was he to deny him that?

Through the haze of lust and pheromones he dimly heard the clink of his belt buckle being undone and his pants being unzipped before his shorts were pulled down and his cock was surging up into Neal's waiting hand.

'Oh yeah…' Peter groaned, 'I've been thinking about this all day…'

'Tell me…' Neal whispered again. 'Tell me what you want me to do; how you like it.'

'What you're doing's fine.' Peter ground out tightly.

'Like that? I want to make it good for you.'

'It is good.'

'Tell me!' Neal urged.

'Okay…Just…Hold it tighter… Grip it with your whole hand, yeah, like that, now move… Faster, harder, that's right. Oh God!'

'What else?'

'I want…Jesus, Neal! That feels so good…'

'What do you want Peter?'

'I want… No, it's nothing.'

Tell me…'

'I want to touch you.' Peter blurted out.

And for a second Peter thought he had gone too far as the tight grip on his cock faltered.

'Forget it, Neal, what you're doing now is great.'

'No, it's okay.' Neal told him and picked up Peter's right hand and guided it onto his upper arm.

That wasn't what Peter had had in mind when he had asked to touch Neal or rather it wasn't exactly where he wanted to touch him, but it seemed that Neal had taken his request literally and maybe that was all he could handle right now.

'Are you sure?'

Neal nodded before resuming his previous task.

Peter stood still not wanting to cause Neal any undue stress and content for the time being just to feel the rhythmic movement of that muscular arm but the movement of Neal's arm and hand on his dick soon became too distracting and his left hand came up automatically to rest on Neal's other arm so that he could steady himself as he began thrusting his hips back and forth trying to get as much friction against Neal's fist as possible.

Neal's free hand seemed to be everywhere; running through his hair; caressing his cheek, his lips, his neck; undoing the buttons on his shirt and slipping inside to rub over his chest; his nipples; trailing his nails gently over the skin of his back, while all the time his other hand was pumping his cock; twisting and squeezing his shaft; thumb repeatedly sweeping over and under the sensitive head, slowly but surely driving him mad.

Peter started moving his hands, gently rubbing and stroking the muscles of Neal's upper arms before shifting up and over his shoulders and moving onto the muscles at the base of his neck. But all he could feel was Neal's shirt collar and his impeccably fixed and tightly done up tie.

'You're wearing too many clothes…' He whispered as he loosened the knot of Neal's tie and then undid the top two buttons of his shirt.

Desire welled up in him at finally getting to touch Neal's skin, which fuelled by the constant friction on his cock, made him desperate for more contact between them.

'Kiss me…' He demanded, clasping hold of Neal's head with both hands, turning his face upwards towards his own so their lips could meet while driving his hips forward into Neal's hand.

It was Peter's tongue that surged into Neal's mouth this time, tasting, licking, sucking while his thumbs gently caressed the stubble on Neal's jaw. The taste and smell of him; the heat and hardness of him; the sensations coming from his groin, it was suddenly all too much. Peter felt his balls start to tighten.

'Neal… Oh shit!'

He instinctively tightened his grip on Neal's face, fingers slipping backwards to tangle in the soft curls at the base of his neck to anchor this wondrous creature to him while furiously increasing his final thrusts into Neal's fist.

'Harder! Come on, come on! Oh yeah, so close…' He cried, his breathing ragged with lust and anticipation of his imminent release.

But then Neal was struggling and twisting in his arms; pushing against his chest and the pressure on his penis was gone.

'Peter, stop!'

And the fear and desperation in the high-pitched voice cut straight through the hormone induced fog surrounding him and sobered him up like a slap to the face.

He released Neal immediately and watched in dismay as he stumbled backwards away from him. But before he could say anything, before he could do anything, he felt his balls contracting, felt his perineum tightening and knew that he had reached the point of no return and that nothing he could do now would prevent the inevitable climax he was about to experience.

He didn't want to do this here and certainly not in front of Neal after what had just happened but he couldn't stop it and before he knew it his hand was on his prick squeezing himself tightly finishing what Neal had started; one stroke, two strokes and that's all it took and he was coming; body jerking, hips thrusting, penis spasming and spurting semen, gasping and groaning at the exquisite sensation of orgasm.

And as he was coming down from his high, he looked over at Neal, feeling both awkward and embarrassed to have lost control so dramatically but also concerned as to how Neal would deal with witnessing his little faux-pas when not seconds before he had pleaded with him to stop; to stop restraining him, to stop touching him, to stop reminding him of anything to do with sex. But Peter hadn't stopped, couldn't bring himself to stop and had blindly carried on thinking nothing of finishing himself off in front of someone who had a very good reason for not wanting to see anything remotely sexual let alone witness the completion of a sex act itself and by someone purporting to be a friend who was supposed to be helping him to recover from a sexual assault by being loving, gentle, caring and supportive all of which he had failed to do spectacularly.

Peter's concern turned to outright worry when he saw Neal trembling and hyperventilating with an expression of fear, horror and disgust on his face, staring wide-eyed at his penis which was still twitching as the last remnants of ejaculate dribbled out of the end of him, through his fingers and onto the floor.

Despite experiencing the last few aftershocks of heightened sensation Peter couldn't enjoy his body's post-orgasmic endorphin high when his partner was having a meltdown right in front of him. What was Neal seeing in his mind's eye? What part of his nightmare was he reliving? He wiped his hands on his shorts before tucking himself away and quickly refastening his pants.

'Neal…' Peter called out softly, not wanting to spook the emotionally traumatized young man any further.

As soon as Peter had spoken, his voice seemed to break whatever spell Neal was under and he dragged his eyes up from the mess on the floor before running shaking fingers repeatedly through his hair.

'Neal, it's okay. We're here in your apartment together. You're safe…But you need to calm down…Neal! Look at me!' Peter ordered.

Neal obeyed instantly, his head snapping upwards, his breathing rapid, shallow and noisy and his whole body trembling.

'Neal, I want you to put your hand on my chest and slow your breathing down to match mine, just like we used to do in the office, remember? I'm coming over to you now…'

Peter approached Neal slowly watching him carefully for any further signs of distress before stopping a little way in front of him so that there was no danger of any inadvertent touching. Now that he was closer he could see the sweat beading on Neal's upper lip and around his hairline and that his pupils that were so dilated from the response of his nervous system to adrenaline brought on by fear that his eyes appeared almost black.

Jesus! The kid was a complete mess! And he'd thought that things had been improving lately and Neal, too, had sworn that that was the case. But there would be time for questions and recriminations later. Now he had to help pacify Neal before his panic attack progressed to the stage where he passed out.

'Give me your hand…'

Neal didn't need to be told twice and placed his shaking hand flat on the center of Peter's chest while those huge dark eyes with their narrow rings of blue locked onto his, pleading with him to help.

Peter started the exaggerated slow raise and fall of his chest as he had done so many times at the office providing Neal with a physical tether and therefore distracting him from the sensations coming from his own body by allowing him to concentrate on Peter's breathing and not his own.

'Feel my chest… In and out, as slow as you can, that's it, you're doing fine…'

A few minutes later Peter could hear that Neal's breathing wasn't so laboured and that his pupils were constricting allowing his eyes to regain their normal startling shade of blue.

'Attaboy, Neal, we're nearly there now…' He said relieved that Neal had finally managed to get himself back under control but knowing that it probably wasn't over yet.

And sure enough a few seconds later he felt Neal tense and then watched as the color drained from his face leaving his skin with that awful greenish hue before he turned and bolted for the bathroom.

Peter ran a hand across his face and sighed in frustration, disappointment and sadness both for himself; he had been looking forward to this all day and now it was ruined, but also for Neal; having to deal with the physical and emotional fall out from yet another panic attack. He heard Neal start to retch and from prior experience knew that he wouldn't be finished for some time yet.

He washed his hands in the kitchen before making his way over to the sofa where he sat down stiffly and tried to formulate the best approach to the uncomfortable conversation that was inevitably going to take place later on that evening.

It was abundantly clear from everything that had happened tonight that Neal was no where near ready to resume a sexual relationship with him so why on Earth then had he promised him that he was? All this time spent refusing to acknowledge what had happened and denying that anything was wrong; all this time spent not talking about things and hoping everything would get better on its own and at the end of the day nothing had changed; Neal was still just as psychologically damaged, just as _broken_ as he was three months ago. How were they ever going to get past this? He just felt so helpless. He sighed again as he closed his eyes and glumly leant his head back against the sofa.

But how could this still be happening? Neal had been cleared for active duty which meant that he must have passed some sort of psychological test that deemed he was coping emotionally with the traumas of his past yet the evidence of Peter's own eyes showed that he wasn't even able to function let alone cope emotionally when the slightest suggestion of sex triggered a flashback.

Neal had been seeing a psychologist twice a week for nearly three months; Dr. Daley was a well-renowned and respected professional with over 20 years experience of treating all sorts of psychological trauma including the post-traumatic stress often suffered by victims of rape. How then could he have certified Neal fit; psychologically, mentally, emotionally or any other way it was classified when it was clear he was nothing of the sort?

Unless of course, Peter thought uncomfortably, Neal had conned him into believing he was well; into believing that he was cured because Neal wanted so badly to be back out in the field…But Neal wasn't that good of an actor was he?

Peter remembered three months back when Neal had had his initial assessment with the psychologist and Peter had gone over to Dr. Daley's office and told him to be careful of Neal, not to trust him, not to take his words, his expressions, his body language at face value because he was a con-artist and manipulated people for a living. Yet underneath the smooth, suave exterior; underneath the tailored suits, the perfectly styled hair, the charming demeanour and the thousand watt smile that he used to devastating effect before expertly stealing your wallet, he was basically a good guy that horrible things had happened to and that Dr. Daley shouldn't believe him when Neal told him that he was fine. He then went onto explain that Neal was a criminal out on parole and that he was his handler and therefore responsible for him and so wanted to be kept in the loop as to his progress and also wanted to know if he skipped any appointments or was late or left early or refused to answer any questions or was obstructive in any way because if necessary, Peter would bring him there personally and stay in the room with him to make sure that he behaved…

Frank Daley had listened to his agitated and impassioned speech without interruption then regarded him thoughtfully for a moment before telling him that he had read Neal's file and knew the circumstances of his initial arrest, escape and re-capture, had seen his psyche file both from his time in prison and the one profiled by the FBI, knew the details of the cases he had worked on with Peter and was aware of what had happened to him during the Wade investigation.

He then told Peter that while he was unable to give details of Neal's sessions - because Neal had to know that this was a safe place where he could talk about things that were deeply painful to him because he had complete trust in his therapist to keep the information confidential - he would however, also keep Peter updated as to his progress with regular statements and written reports.

Dr. Daley then reassured him that Neal so far had been a model patient, and although it was obviously difficult he had begun to talk about what had happened to him. He also had high hopes that Neal would continue to engage and that the therapy would ultimately benefit him. And while Peter had gone into the meeting feeling angry that Neal was potentially going to lie to a medical professional and FBI employee he had left feeling satisfied that Neal was taking this seriously and finally doing something to help himself which would eventually, hopefully, lead to them being able to get back together.

And Dr. Daley had stayed true to his word and after every session without fail a report landed on his desk outlining his discussions with Neal and how he felt Neal was progressing until last Friday when the final report came, just like Neal said it would, recommending that CI Neal Caffrey be reinstated to full active duty effective immediately and as such was no longer required to attend any further sessions at Dr. Daley's office.

But now, Peter wasn't so sure. It just all seemed too convenient. But if that were the case, then Neal had been manipulating a trained psychologist for nearly three months and by the looks of things had gotten away with it. Was he really that good a con-man? And if so, why did he do it and why had he wasted a perfectly good opportunity to get the help he so obviously needed…?

Neal re-appeared in the living room 20 minutes later fully dressed in a new three-piece suit, with jacket, vest and shirt all buttoned up and tie tightly fastened at the neck and with his face freshly shaved and his hair neatly combed. If Peter didn't know better, if Peter hadn't seen with his own eyes the complete quivering wreck that Neal had turned into less than half an hour ago he wouldn't have believed that this beautiful, smart and confidant man were one and the same.

'Are you alright?' He asked cautiously.

'Yes, thank you, I'm fine!' Neal replied with a blinding grin. 'Would you like that beer now?'

What the fuck? Peter's eyes widened with incredulity and disbelief. Neal was acting as if nothing had happened! Did the little bastard think this was all some sort of a game? What was he playing at and what did he hope to achieve by this constant denial that there was anything wrong with him?

Five minutes ago Peter had felt sad and sorry, both for himself and Neal that he was still experiencing flashbacks, still unable to be touched in any significant way, still unable to enjoy even physical contact let alone a sexual relationship with him, but now he just felt angry… Angry that Neal had got his hopes up after all these weeks of hands off abstinence only to have them dashed once more, angry that he had been duped yet again into thinking that Neal desired him only to find out that the man couldn't even bear to be touched let alone have sex with him and angry that he was so desperate for any sort of physical contact with Neal that he had let himself be led along tonight believing Neal's heartfelt pleas in the office, believing he was ready for full-on sex because ultimately that's what he, himself had wanted.

El had told him that Neal might need some time; had warned him not to move too fast, not to take advantage, not to press, ask, comment, not to cause him any more pain than he had already endured… And he had tried, he really had, not touching Neal at all during the last three months, waiting until Neal came to him, but at the end of the day, one word from Neal and El had been right; he had let his libido and desire for Neal take precedence over Neal's emotional well-being and had once again, unwittingly caused Neal harm.

El was going to be furious with him. She was really fond of Neal and had been horrified when he had told her of what had happened with Wade and what he suspected had happened to Neal during his stay in prison. But this time it was Neal's fault. Peter had kept his end of the bargain. He had kept his hands to himself, not made any comments or alluded to events past and had let Neal decide if and when the time was right, so it wasn't fair that he was going to get his ass whooped tonight when it had been Neal who had led him on, Neal who had insisted everything was fine again, Neal who had more or less dragged him back to his rooms tonight with whispered promises of the physical intimacy that was to be had between them…

Peter sighed and shook his head as he got to his feet and walked over to the chair where he had left his jacket and tie. It had been madness to come here; madness to think that even if Neal hadn't had any emotional problems that there could ever be anything between them, not when Neal continually played him and had him wrapped around his little finger, not when Neal didn't trust him enough to tell the truth. He would have thought by now that he would have learned his lesson, after all the man was a con artist; he'd been put away for bond forgery for God's sake, so why was he always striving to see the good in Neal? Time after time the kid had played him; run scams behind his back and conned his way out of punishment and the more Peter got to know him and got involved with him, the more he got to like him as a person and that just made it so much more difficult to forgive him his transgressions and to constantly try and smooth things over with Hughes and the Bureau. He just didn't know how much more of his deceit he was going to be able to take.

'Where are you going?' Neal asked, standing in front of the fridge with a beer in his hand.

'Home.' Peter replied morosely, putting his jacket on and then rolling up his tie and slipping it into his pocket.

'Why? What's wrong?'

'You, me, us, this!' Peter spluttered, gesturing with his hand indicating the metaphorical gulf between them.

'But I thought you wanted it, wanted me…'

'I did. I do.' Peter sighed.

And it was true. Even after all these games, after the cons, the deflections and half-truths, Peter still wanted him as much as ever, but he just didn't see how it was possible for that to happen. Not when Neal continually denied that there was anything wrong.

'Well, then why are you leaving?' Neal asked puzzled.

'I just don't see how this can work out between us, Neal.'

'Why not?'

And underneath the obvious edge of anxiety, he sounded genuinely perplexed. Did he really not have a clue? Was his head so far up his own ass that he couldn't see how hurtful and distressing this whole situation was for Peter; being repeatedly led on and then rejected and left frustrated and wanting, or, he swallowed uncomfortably, was Neal just so completely in denial that his sub-conscious mind had hidden the memories of what happened to him in prison as a kind of self-preservation strategy so that Neal wasn't deliberately being difficult but rather he couldn't actually remember any of the physical and emotional trauma that had happened to him and this was just his psyche's way of coping to prevent the psychological damage he'd sustained from leaving him unable to function at all. Was that how he had got past Dr. Daley's assessments? Because if that were the case, it would mean that he hadn't really lied which made Peter feel a little better about this whole sorry mess.

'Because of what just happened.' He said staring straight at Neal as if willing him to deny it.

Well, at least Neal hadn't buried all of his memories in his sub-conscious if that look was anything to go by, Peter thought as he watched Neal's eyes widen momentarily before he pasted on another bright, fake smile and walked over to stand in front of him.

'Peter… That was nothing; a minor setback; first time nerves. It's been a while if you remember! Everything's good now. We can try again after a drink…' He said smoothly, his tone soft and placating.

'What?' Peter said looking at him with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

'Really, Peter, I'm fine…'

'Neal…'

'Honestly, Peter...'

'Stop it! Just… Stop! Neal, for once in your Goddamned life would you just quit lying… You're not fine, you haven't been fine in months, in fact you're so far from fine I don't even know where to start!' Peter shouted.

Neal recoiled as though he had been slapped, eyes wide in his pale face. Peter immediately felt contrite, after all it wasn't Neal's fault that those awful things had happened to him and that denial was his way of coping. But he was going to have to learn that in the long-run this refusal to face the truth was going to do him more harm than good.

Peter sighed.

'I'm sorry. Look, I don't think I can do this anymore…' He said, making his way to the door.

'No, Peter, please don't leave. Okay…so the evening didn't go quite as I'd planned and maybe 'fine' was overstating things a little…' Neal said earnestly while walking backwards in front of Peter, trying to block off his exit.

'Ya think?' Peter said sarcastically while trying to get around the dancing, jittery body in front of him.

'But it was definitely better!'

And suddenly the anger was back in full force again. Neal just couldn't help himself. He just couldn't stop lying to him, couldn't stop manipulating him since the moment he had gotten in the door.

'Better? Better than what? You weren't enjoying yourself, you could hardly stand to be touched, and like the last two times we were together, you had a flashback, a panic attack, a meltdown and then spent the last 20 minutes throwing your guts up. Tell me how that could possibly 'better'?'

Neal made no move to answer but just stood there as if rooted to the spot, eyes wide in a face devoid of all color.

Peter didn't let up.

'Come on tell me!' He demanded.

Neal flinched at the harsh voice before swallowing anxiously.

'You stopped.' He finally said in a small voice. 'When I asked you to... You stopped. They… They didn't.'

'They?' Peter asked confused before realization struck a second later.

Oh God, there'd been more than one of them in prison; Was Neal trying to say that he had been gang-raped?

'Christ, Neal, I'm sorry…'

'Don't be.' Neal told him firmly. 'There's nothing for you to be sorry about. None of it was your fault and anyway, it's in the past.'

'But it's not in the past for you. Look, it's obvious that you're not over it yet and that's totally understandable…But why then did you tell me you were? Why did you say you wanted to have sex with me when all I have to do is touch you and it triggers a flashback? I told you I would wait and I meant it. You don't have to do this to yourself Neal.'

'Yes I do, Peter. I'm 32 years old and I haven't had consensual sex with anyone for nearly five years. I'm supposed to be in the prime of my life; living off the money I've made, enjoying good food, fine wines and making love with my beautiful girl-friend every night. Well, I can hardly afford decent food and wine on little more than the minimum wage that the FBI pays me and Kate's gone and I don't know if I'll ever see her again and even if she had been here, I couldn't have made love to her because for a year after I got out of prison, I couldn't even get it up!

'What?' Peter asked scandalized.

'I was so anxious to prove to you that I was worth the risk you took getting me released, to prove that I could be trusted, that I wouldn't cut my anklet and run that I worked my butt off for you trying to stay within the law even when what you wanted me for was because of my criminal skills and associations. But at the same time I was also so scared that at any moment you or Hughes would say that that was it, that I wasn't worth the time or effort or money and despite all the work I had done for you I would be thrown back in prison for another four years so I was forever making contingency plans just in case I needed to run… So I didn't have time to worry about sex or in my case the lack of it.

'But then things got better between you and me and the work became more enjoyable and I made some friends at the FBI and I stopped thinking about running every day and then you started looking at me and touching me and I wanted a relationship with you so badly… But I couldn't stop the flashbacks no matter how hard I tried…

'Nobody's expecting you to Neal, least of all me. PTSD is a medical condition; you can't help having flashbacks and you can't control when they happen or what it is that sets them off.' Peter said gently. PTSD is something that may be with you for a long time yet. It doesn't just go away overnight. But you can learn to control how you deal with any panic attack that may come after.'

'But I thought it had gone away. I hadn't had any flashbacks for weeks and I wasn't lying when I told you that everything was in working order again. I've been touching myself all weekend, thinking of you and it was wonderful…

'Hang on… Are you saying that this is the first time since…Well, three months ago that you've been able to get an erection?' Peter asked frowning.

Neal ignored the question.

'I asked you over tonight, because I thought I could do it, but when you…touched me, it wasn't like when I was on my own…' Neal whispered.

'Of course it wouldn't be.' Peter said softly, now feeling terribly guilty.

Because he hadn't realized how much stress Neal had been under in those first few months since he had been released from prison and just how much he personally had contributed to Neal's anxiety, remembering now on how many occasions he had threatened, even if it had been a joke at times, to throw Neal back in prison if he didn't behave. It was ironic really; he had been desperate for Neal to tell him the truth and now when he had, he had absolutely no idea what to say to him. Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache coming on. God, he wished El was here. She always knew the right thing to say.

'What did Dr. Daley say about all this?' He asked uncomfortably.

'No!' Neal exclaimed loudly, his voice high-pitched and fearful and his head snapping up from where it had been avoiding Peter's gaze. 'You said I didn't have to talk to you if I didn't want to.'

'I didn't mean I wanted you to tell me, I meant that Dr. Daley must have had some suggestions as how best to proceed in these circumstances. Perhaps you need to re-start your sessions with him, talk about…'

'No.' Neal said emphatically and for once there was no smile, fake or otherwise to be seen on his beautiful face; his mouth, small and thin-lipped was a down-turned jagged little line.

'I don't want to talk to about it. I don't ever want to talk about it…' He said quietly, his eyes meeting Peter's in warning and allowing him a brief glimpse of the stormy emotions swirling beneath the normal guileless, beautiful bright blue before he once again looked away.

Peter had never discussed Neal's therapy with him before, mainly because he felt very uncomfortable about the idea of discussing his own feelings with anyone so why then would he expect Neal to do something that he himself would have no intention of doing? But in this case he really did believe that therapy was the best option for Neal but it obviously wasn't going to work for him if he continually lied and manipulated his therapist. There was also the small matter of getting Neal to agree to go back and of getting Dr. Daley to see that maybe Neal wasn't as emotionally stable as he'd been led to believe. Peter wanted to tell him what had happened tonight but he didn't see how he could do that without revealing the circumstances which triggered Neal in the first place. Which left Neal agreeing to go back voluntarily; which was not something that he was likely to do any time soon.

'Okay. But I don't think I'm the best person to help you either…'

'Peter… You're the only person who can help me. You're the only one who has any idea of … what might have happened to me in prison, you're the only one I trust, you're the only one I want to touch me, to help me get over this.'

'I don't know if I can do this, Neal, I mean… I've never even been with a man before. I've got no idea what's even supposed to happen normally let alone trying to help you. I was kind of hoping that you would teach me…'

'Then we can help each other! Please Peter…'

'I know this isn't easy for you, but I hope you can understand that it's difficult for me too. I'm going to need some time to think about it.'

'Okay… When…?'

'I don't know, Neal.' Peter said trying not to look at Neal's anxious little face by searching in his pockets for his keys.

'Peter, don't go… I'm sorry about tonight, I really thought I was okay again, that I was ready. I know it must be hard for you too, but I can make it up to you. It can still be good for you, even if I can't…'

'Neal, don't. Look, I need to go. I'll see you tomorrow at work, okay?'

'Peter, please! I don't want to be impotent and scared and alone for the rest of my life. Please, Peter… Please help me…'

And that was it; one desperate and totally honest plea from Neal in all his beautiful, vulnerable glory and there was no way he could just turn around and leave.

'Come 'ere…' He said gruffly, putting his arms out and then deliberately moving his hands behind his back.

A second later there was a warm, solid weight against his chest and he could feel scratchy stubble on his cheek and hot breath on his neck and two strong arms were snaking their way around his torso grabbing hold of him, before he heard a shuddering sigh and a heavy head came to rest on his shoulder.

'We'll fix this, Neal.' He said closing his eyes and inhaling the wonderful, intoxicating scent from the soft hair that was tickling his nose.'

'How?' Came the muffled response of despair from somewhere in the region of his neck.

'I've got no idea…' He replied honestly, kissing the top of the dark head under his chin. 'But I'm sure we'll think of something and more importantly, we'll do it together.'


End file.
